


Bits and Pieces

by Wordsplat



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-09 00:12:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 62
Words: 90,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordsplat/pseuds/Wordsplat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various things I've written and posted on tumblr. Each piece is complete on its own and separate from the others. Each chapter will have whatever warnings might be applicable in the chapter summary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Three Sentence Fics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three sentence fics done for a meme on tumblr. Warnings: none.

**1950's:**

He spots him across the Stork Club through a bustling crowd, dancing with a real pretty dame, a brunette with bright red lips quirked up in an amused, affectionate smile. Tony's not watching her, though, he's watching the blond stepping on her toes, the gorgeous man with the apologetic smile and eyes like nothing Tony's ever seen. He recognizes the burst of heady, electric desire in his veins, and, startled and horrified at his own reaction, he downs his last drink before clearing out to find another club.

**Beauty and the Beast:**

Steve is entirely certain he's getting Stockholm Syndrome, and he is entirely certain that he doesn't care. Tony can be snappish and coarse and frankly an ass—and it's probably best not to think about the part where he kept him locked in the dungeon, though really, it was only one night—but there's more to him, too. He's kind, when he thinks no one's watching, brave and brilliant and even a bit charming, and Steve wonders why he didn't see it there before.

**Policemen in a bar:**

"Y'know Cap, I've got better booze back at my place we could try…if you wanted to come home with me."

Steve shot him a dry, unimpressed look, clearly asking if after ten years on the force together, after ten years of ridiculously inappropriate flirting and ogling his ass in the Captain's uniform and basically pining like a thirteen year old girl,  _that_  was really the best Tony could do; Tony shrugged.

"Also I'm a little in love with you, but I was going to save that until after I got you spectacularly drunk and possibly rocked your world."

Steve waved for the tab.

**Tony's a thief, Steve works in an art gallery:  
**

To be fair, all he'd done was tackle the man—the thief, the small part of his brain still functioning hissed—and it wasn't his fault the psycho's plan of distraction had been a kiss. Yes, okay, it might have maybe stolen his breath away, but no one had to know that because what  _had_  stolen his breath was that damn thief using his distraction to hit him in the solar plexus,  _hard_ , before dashing off into the night with his prize.

Yeah, Steve was definitely still getting fired.

**Hulkeye high school:**

Clint was not known for being subtle—or particularly patient, for that matter—so really, he displayed remarkable self-control waiting all of three days before leaning across their lab table to ask his adorable, too-cute-for-words lab partner,

"Bruce, darling, why are you doing science when you could be doing me?"

Bruce stuttered and dropped a beaker full of chemicals, but he was also the only one in the room who didn't groan at the cheesy line, so Clint was going to take that as a yes.

**Star Trek:**

Tony knows what he feels is completely illogical. He also knows his admiration for Captain Rogers is outside the bounds of friendly camaraderie, even outside the bounds of their already unusually close friendship. He knows, and he says nothing, because while the human half of him may not mind trying for something out of his reach, the Vulcan half of him already knows every reason a relationship between them would fail, and he knows it would be his fault.

**Star Trek, part two:**

Steve knows exactly what Tony would say about his feelings, can practically hear his first officer telling him how illogical he's being in that arrogant, unnecessarily sassy tone he uses when he knows he's right. And maybe Tony would be right—maybe loving an impossibly frustrating, button-pushing half-Vulcan is completely and utterly illogical—but Tony is also the best friend Steve's ever had, and he's been falling headfirst for the man since the moment they met. Clearly, Steve's never really been the logical type anyway.

**Destiel in an Avengers setting:**

"So, did it hurt when you fell from heaven?" Dean asked, leaning as faux-casually as he could against the doorframe of the debrief room, blocking Captain America's exit and trying not to look like he'd spent the entire debrief debating which pick-up line to use.

"I did not fall from anywhere, I am perfectly fine," Castiel answered, perplexed, "You, however, fell three stories earlier and should be in the medical ward, Iron Man."

Damn it.

**Hairspray:**

"Hurry up, Buck, we're gonna miss him!" Steve urged as he skidded through the door, clicking on the tv as the theme song started up.

Bucky made a face, but didn't protest as Steve dragged him into the room right as  _he_  came on the tv, turning his dame Pepper in a spin. He saw Tony around school, but the gorgeous teen paid him no mind; at least watching the show, Steve could pretend it was him Tony was winking at.

**Omega Steve:**

"I'll beat 'em to hell," Tony growled, brushing a thumb over Steve's bruised cheekbone.

"That's sweet, Tony," Steve said, smiling softly at his ridiculous alpha's over-protective streak, "But it's alright, I was the one who picked a fight in the first place."

"Nope, still gonna kick their asses," Tony told him, leaning in to kiss Steve firmly and decisively.

**High school cafeteria:**

Tony is scrawny, insolent, and, as Rhodey once so eloquently put it, has 'more metal in his mouth than sense in his head'. Steve is stunning, kind-hearted, and Captain of the football team. Steve bumped into him in the cafeteria once, and said all of "sorry"; Tony has been envisioning their wedding ever since.

**Domestic:**

He pokes his baby in it's chubby little side, listens to it giggle, and thinks idly that if rainbows and sunshine made noise they would sound like Peter-giggles. He prods its cheeks next, watches adoringly as a bright, gummy grin stretches across—

"Stop poking the baby, Tony, honestly."

**Little Red Riding Hood:**

"I feel silly."

"Relax, you're rocking it, baby," Tony murmured with a smirk and a teasing snap of his teeth, "Now get over here so I can eat you right up."

"Wrong fairytale. And this doesn't even have a hood, it's just…" Steve's voice dropped to a whisper,  _"Lingerie."_

"You—" Tony pulled him into his lap with a sweet smile and a sweeter kiss. "—are ridiculous. Sexy, but ridiculous."

**1920's:**

Steve knows that it's wrong. God, how he knows that it's wrong. More than that, however, he knows that he would sacrifice every shred of morality, of conformity, of normality, for one more stolen moment with the man he loves.

**Medieval:  
**

Steve would follow his Prince to the ends of the earth without hesitation, but that was just his duty, clearly nothing more. Prince Anthony was spoiled, was snarky and brash and attracti— _arrogant_. He meant arrogant.

**Blind Tony:**

Thing is, Tony was so tactically brilliant and well-practiced that it took Steve weeks to notice. Whenever Tony wasn't in the Iron Man suit, he wore these gaudy, hipster sunglasses, and Steve couldn't understand why he never took them off. Finally, he gave up and just asked about it; Tony laughed so hard Steve thought he might hack up a lung, and when Tony finally managed to spit out a startled, hysterical,  _ohmigod I'm blind you idiot_ , Steve had never wanted to melt into the ground more in his entire life.

**Incubus Tony:**

All in all, having an incubus for a boyfriend wasn't really all that bad. He had an unbelievably high sex drive, but hey, so did Steve, and it made for some fun nights—nights, mornings, afternoons, any time they could get their hands on each other, really—so that part was fantastic. The tail was a little strange, but he supposed he could learn to live with worse.

**Steve is Tony's PA:**

Pepper, in her eternal wisdom, decided when she left for her honeymoon her replacement ought to be male and therefore Stark-proof. Neither she nor Tony anticipated Steve Rogers, who clearly existed purely to give Tony an incredibly belated and completely unexpected sexual crisis; unfortunately, Steve seemed to be under the impression that he existed to make Tony sign things and attend meetings. He blushed from head to toe when Tony finally asked him to dinner though, so Tony counted that as a win.

**Bookshop:**

Tony had tried to keep it classy, or at least subtle, but if the sign in the bookstore reading, "Put us out of our misery and just ask him out already!" was anything to go by, Steve, or at least Steve's coworkers, might've caught on.

"You asked me to help you find the Great Gatsby," Steve told him over coffee later, and cut Tony off with a fond eye roll before he could protest, _"Eleven times."_

**College:**

The fact that it took him—a  _genius_ , thank you very much—so long to realize he was in love with his best friend was, frankly, embarrassing. Steve had just always been there, and the sudden idea that Tony might lose him, that they might move to different cities and grow apart and only ever communicate through texts or letters or whatever else was complete and utter  _bullshit_. The idea of never losing him sort of snowballed from  _hey please don't leave me I kind of like your face a lot_  to  _I'd really like to wake up to you every morning for possibly the rest of my life_ and before Tony knew it he was grabbing Steve by the front of his robes and kissing him in front of their entire graduating class.

**Baby Steve explaining his Bucky Bear:**

"D'you think we could we share him, maybe?" the boy who had tried to steal Steve's Bucky bear earlier, Tony, rolled over on his nap mat to face Steve with all the seriousness a four year old could muster, "I had a Rhodey bear, but Daddy took him away cause I made his desk 'splode an' now I can't sleep."

"You hafta be real nice," Steve warned seriously, "He's sens'tive, specially bout his arm. You can't tug 'im. Promise you won't?"

"Promise." Tony nodded hastily.

Steve carefully put his Bucky bear between their nap mats, and both boys fell asleep shortly after, each with an arm wrapped around the shared bear.

**Pepper with Extremis:**

"Pepper, darling, light of my life, we talked about thi—" Tony started, then stopped when his lovely, wonderful, cruel girlfriend once again flew  _his_ suit out of his reach, "Damn it, Pepper, this isn't fair, I'm Iron Man, it's my thing, I thought we agreed on this!"

Pepper—beautiful, sweet, evil Pepper—just giggled, "It's not my fault your toys like me better now."

"They most certainly do  _no_ —Dum-E, nod in agreement one more time and I'll mail you straight to the scrap yard, first-class!"

**Hollywood:**

When Tony kisses him, he kisses with open mouths and bumping teeth and hands burning into his hips, until all Steve can feel is the heat of Tony against him, the loose, easy pleasure of it, the roll of his hips and the lave of his tongue and the small, almost inaudible noise he makes against Steve's mouth when the director calls cut. Steve knows it's only because Tony's a good actor, and he hopes Tony will chalk the desperation of Steve's own grabbing hands up to the same. He knows Tony doesn't like him, that he's just immersing himself in the scene like he ought to, but Steve can't help hoping the director will want to re-shoot it all the same.

**Supernatural starring Steve and Tony:**

"C'mon baby, if we can stop an alien invasion we can hunt a couple demons," Tony tells Steve with a grin, tugging him into a quick kiss for the road. Before they can load up, however, the angel guy—Castor? Cas something—stops Tony with an inquisitive, strangely serious look.

"I do not understand," he says, quirking his head at Steve now, "He is not an infant."

Tony leans around Cas to give the Winchester kid a look.

"Do you want to teach your pet angel about terms of endearment, or is that on me?"

**Genderswapped:**

"I am so done with this," Steve grumbled as he—she? No, he, definitely he, this was reversible, it  _had_  to be—tripped in his heels for what must've been at least the sixth time.

"And I'm done with your bitching," Tony decided, except, it wasn't Tony, it was some female that talked and acted and vaguely looked like Steve's usually very male best friend, "We're going to get hot—well, Pepper and Natasha will make us hot, I'm not even sure where to start with all that primping and prodding and whatever it is they do—and then we're going to out and make the best of a shitty situation."

"How can you possibly think of going out right now?"

"Hey, if I can't have my dick, I think I at least deserve a free drink."

**High school musical:**

When Tony is pushed up on stage for karaoke, he bitches and moans before accepting the mike shoved into his hands with begrudging resentment, while his jerk friends cheer and whoop triumphantly. When he sees his partner though—blonde and bashful, blushing a faint pink only barely visible in the dim rec hall lighting, with the most gorgeous eyes Tony's ever seen—well, maybe Tony could stand to sing a little more often.

_"This could be the start, of something new / it feels so right, to be here with you / and now, looking in your eyes / I feel in my heart, the start of something new…"_

**True Love's Kiss:  
**

When Loki said the spell could be broken only by True Love's Kiss, they'd all pretty much assumed he'd been fucking with them. When Steve was still asleep a week later though, Tony couldn't help himself; it wasn't that he  _really_  thought he was Steve's True Love—he was a narcissist, but even he wasn't stupid enough to think  _he_  of all people could be Steve's True Love, if things like that even existed—but he couldn't resist the slim flicker of hope, however pointless.

Though, he supposed it didn't seem quite so pointless when Steve surged to life at the briefest touch of Tony's lips.


	2. Rescue-verse blurb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blurb from the same verse as another fic of mine, Rescue. It's not necessary to read it, just know that Peter is adopted and has spiderpowers. Warnings: none.

They were hosting a press conference in an hour.

It wasn't their first, not by a long shot; they'd been superheroes for far too long for press conferences to be anything but second nature. This was Peter's first press conference though, so he had to look sharp.

They'd kept the adoption under the radar, given themselves a month to work out the little kinks of the new family dynamic—which, apparently, included a shift in Steve and Tony's dynamic, but if you asked the team that had apparently been a long time coming—and now that things had settled down, they'd elected to address the press before the press found out on their own.

A superpowered child being adopted by New York's most beloved superheroes was a pretty big deal after all, and it certainly wasn't going to stay hushed up forever. Best to deal with things on their own terms now than be ambushed later on.

Steve was showering in one of the guest bathrooms on the ground floor, while Tony scrubbed Peter down in the master bath upstairs. Peter was complaining about having to get cleaned and dressed up, squirming out of Tony's reach and splashing around and generally causing a fuss.

"Peter, sit  _still,"_ Tony huffed, taking Peter by the arm and pulling him back down, "I'm not done, you still need shampoo."

"But I  _hate_ shampoo—!" Peter squawked indignantly, squirming again.

"Don't you want to look nice for the cameras?" Tony tried.

"No."

"Yes you do, now hold still or it's gonna get in your eyes."

"How come I can't wear normal clothes?" Peter complained.

"It's just a suit, it's not the end of the world. Trust me, you've got plenty more in your future, better get comfortable in it."

"But it suuucks—" Peter whined.

"Tell you what." Tony sighed, giving in and resorting to bribery. "You can wear my shiny reactor cufflinks, okay?"

"I can?" Peter brightened.

"Yeah. They're just in the closet here—"

Tony didn't leave Peter alone, didn't even fully turn his back; all it took was ten paces to the closet. In the blink of an eye, Peter was scrambling up the edge of the tub, sliding the window open, and crawling down the side of the building.

"Jesus fucking Christ—" Tony swore.

He sprinted back across the room, dove over the tub and halfway out the window, trying to grab Peter before he was out of reach, but it was already too late. All he could see was Peter's naked butt as he wiggled his way down the side of the building.

"YOU BETTER HOPE YOU DEVELOP INVISIBILITY IN THE NEXT TEN SECONDS, SQUIRT!" Tony hollered out the window, "BECAUSE WHEN I CATCH YOU, YOU ARE  _DEAD!"_

Furious, Tony slammed the window shut. The movement threw him off balance, and he teetered briefly before slipping and crashing into the still full tub. Thankfully he hadn't gotten dressed for the conference yet, so he was just a ratty muscle tee and jeans, but he was still soaked and utterly pissed.

"I'm gonna fucking kill that kid—"

"Sir, Captain Rogers wishes to know if everything is alright."

"Tell him  _his kid_ just ducked out the window and is now climbing down the building buck ass naked."

Tony scrambled out of the tub while he waited for Steve's reply, stripping off his now far too constrictive jeans. He didn't have time to put on another pair of pants, not with his demonic, naked son surely making for the backyard. There was a huge mud puddle Tony just  _knew_ the kid was gunning for—he'd spent an hour dragging Peter away from it this morning—and he really didn't want to waste another scrubbing him clean again. Thor walked around naked half the time anyway, boxers were more than fine for chasing his idiot son back into the tub.

"Captain Rogers would like me to inform you that young sir's preference for nudity and mayhem is entirely your doing." JARVIS replied while Tony raced down the stairs, the AI's tone heavily implying his agreement.

"Yeah, well, remind him who asked who for a kid, and who warned who about shackling their life to eccentric dumbasses who don't know what they're doing."

"Captain Rogers wishes you to know that you're a wonderful father, and that he would shackle himself to you over someone sane any day of the week."

"Tell him if that was a marriage proposal, it was shit, you don't call people insane while you propose to them, and I  _at least_ deserve dinner and a ring. Also, he should be on his knees, preferably twice."

JARVIS kindly ignored the large, rather dopey grin on Tony's face even as he relayed his instructions.

"He says you're rather smug for someone who just lost a five year old out a window."

"I didn't  _lose_ him—"

"Also, that if that was  _your_ idea of a proposal, it was hardly much better."

Tony grinned.

He opened his mouth to reply, but canned it when he skidded into the kitchen and caught sight of Peter out back through the sliding glass door, rolling around in the mud.

Of course.

"Peter Benjamin Parker, you are in  _so much trouble_ — _!_ "

Peter took off immediately. Tony was through the door in seconds, chasing Peter around the yard until he managed to grab the kid around the waist. He only had him for a second though, then Peter shot webbing in his face and sped off into the tower.

Tony clawed the webbing off his face and took chase after Peter. At some point down the hallway of guest bedrooms they picked up Steve, who ducked out in nothing more than a towel, hair still slicked and skin still soaked. He followed after them both, adding his calls of "Peter, so help me God!" to Tony's "You're  _dead,_ you hear me?"

It was like that, Peter naked and covered in mud, Tony in an oil-stained muscle tee and Captain America boxers, Captain America himself two steps behind in nothing but a fuzzy towel held up with one hand while he tried to snag Peter with the other, that they raced past the press.

It was Peter who saw them first and skidded to a halt in the foyer, while Tony tackled him less than a second later from behind and Steve crashed into them both right after, feet too wet to slow down on the tile.

The reporters watched them in stunned silence for a very long moment. Pepper was amongst them, apparently having let them inside for the conference, though her expression was less surprised and more resigned. Peter turned bright red, Tony tried to get his brain to reboot, and Steve just did his best to keep himself covered.

In the end, it was a junior reporter was the first to blurt out a reaction.

"You're the people who fought killer aliens from outer space?"

There was another long pause, and it was Pepper who sighed.

"Unfortunately."


	3. Teen Peter in Avengers Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter agrees to join the Avengers and very quickly learns that they are not the same people they are on TV. Warnings: none.

"—so, I just want you to know, I'm totally yours in the divorce."

"What do you mean, divorce? Who got divorced?" Tony mumbled through his sandwich, finally tuning back in to Peter's long-winded rant. "Scratch that, who got married?"

"Well, not really divorced, just broke up, but." Peter shrugged. "You know what I mean."

"I really don't." Tony raised an eyebrow. The spider-kid had moved in just a few days ago. He was fun to have around, eager to learn and exceedingly helpful in the lab, but for all his intelligence, Tony sometimes wondered if he was really all there. "Who broke up?"

"You and…Steve?" Peter blinked.

"What? We didn't break up." Tony frowned, then called loudly up the stairs, "Steve!"

"What?" Steve shouted back.

"Did we break up?"

"Are you insane?"

"Peter says he's mine in the divorce!"

"We're not married!"

"Well,  _I_ know that!"

"What do you mean, you're not broken up?" Peter made a wild hand gesture. "Less than half an hour ago you were screaming bloody murder at each other. Steve punched a hole in the wall!"

"One of many." Clint snorted from across the table.

"We fight." Tony shrugged. "It happens."

"We're always going to fight." Steve entered the kitchen, tossing his workout rag in Tony's face as he passed to get food from the fridge. "Tony can be an arrogant bastard."

"And Steve can be a stubborn jackass." Tony used the rag to smack Steve's arm irritably.

"But there's only one Tony Stark in the world," Steve continued, "I'm not keen on letting him go just for being a pain in the rear every once in a while."

"Same." Tony nodded. "Insert 'Steve Rogers' and 'reckless idiot'."

"That's rich, coming from you."

"Says the man who jumps out of planes without parachutes on a  _near weekly basis_ though I have offered time and time again to build one into your suit—"

"It would be too bulky—"

"Don't insult my capabilities, it would not and you know it—"

"I don't need one all the time—"

"Just when you're trying to give me a heart attack—"

"I'm not a child, I know what I'm doing—"

"I have a  _heart condition,_ Steve, are you trying to kill me?"

"You have shrapnel in your chest, that's not a heart condition, stop being melodramatic—"

"Oh, no, that's right, you're only trying to kill  _yourself_ —"

"I'm not going to die from a little fall _,_ Tony, I have the superserum—"

"A  _little—_ it was more than a thousand feet in the air! The superserum's not going to magically re-inflate you if you become a star-spangled pancake!"

The couple continued to bicker amongst themselves, and Peter looked to Clint.

"So this is…normal?"

"This is a good day." Clint chuckled, taking another gulp of his orange juice. "Wait til one of them  _actually_ gets hurt. There's a brief period during which they're disgustingly sweet to each other, then the minute the broken one is fully healed, they start screaming their lungs out at each other for at least a week."

"In between the sex," Bruce pointed out as he entered, making a beeline for the coffee machine.

"What?" Peter gaped.

"He's right, after a scare they go at it worse than the time AIM filtered sex pollen into our ventilation system." Clint snorted. "But don't worry kid, JARVIS'll keep you from getting an eyeful."

"I made a really bad decision coming to live here, didn't I?"

"Nah, you get used to it." Clint waved his concern off.

"If they hate each so much, why are they even together?"

"Hate each…?" Clint boggled at him. Then with a shake of his head and a devious smirk, he picked up the kitchen knife he'd been using to cut his chicken. "Watch this."

Clint twirled the knife in his fingers once, then sent it flying at Tony's head. Peter barely had time to blink before Steve had Tony pinned to the floor, and Clint shot out of his chair and raced down the hallway.

"Clinton Francis Barton, so help me God, if you launch one more projectile at Tony I'll have you on solitary clean-up duty for a year, you hear me?" Steve hollered, red-faced in anger.

He stood, and bent to offer Tony a hand up. Though Steve's reaction had been immediate and the knife had come nowhere near Tony, Steve clasped Tony's face in his hands anyway, turning him this way and that, examining him for any imagined cuts or marks.

"Are you alright?"

"I am. Clint won't be when I'm through with him." Tony snorted, though he didn't bat Steve's probing, worried hands away like Peter would've thought. He seemed to expect the scrutiny, and stood there patiently until Steve was satisfied.

"Me first." Steve scowled. "He's upgrading. Last time it was just a book."

"I think he just used whatever was on hand, babe." Tony patted Steve's arm.

Then they were out the door, apparently to get Clint back somehow. Peter turned to Bruce in bewilderment, hoping for some sort of explanation.

"Don't ask me what goes through their heads." He just shrugged, leaning against the counter and taking a sip of his coffee. "They're in love. They make it work. Don't try get involved if you value your sanity. That's all the advice I've got for you."

Peter let his head fall to the table with a groan.

Coming to live with the Avengers had been his worst decision yet.


	4. Steve dies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve dies. Tony deals with that. Warnings: major character death, though not described.

He can't breathe.

There's no other way to describe the aching loss of it, the way every breath Steve's gone feels carved right out of his lungs. He remembers being waterboarded in Afghanistan and thinks it's like that, except he doesn't care if he's ever let up again. He just wants to drown already. Some days, he can muster his emotions; he can feel abandoned, feel betrayed, feel furious. But then he remembers the way Steve had smiled at him only moments before they'd gone into battle, happy and confident and so goddamn young, and he's drowning again.

The funeral is a fucking sham. Steve would've hated it. All the stuffy, pompous military bastards Steve found insufferable quoting poets Steve didn't like and parts of the Bible he never agreed with, using his dead fucking body to push their own agenda. Tony is supposed to speak. He can't find the air to. Weeks later he holds a funeral of his own, a real one, and only the Avengers are in attendance. He manages to get the words out this time. He speaks about Steve until his voice is hoarse, but it isn't enough, and nothing ever could be.

He destroys his workshop. Fucking wrecks it. It'll take him months to restore some of the projects he demolishes, but what else is he going to do with his time? He doesn't sleep anymore, and he doesn't have Steve to talk to when the nightmares rise like bile, so he's back to his age-old therapy of create and destroy, create and destroy, create and destroy until he can finally manage to destroy himself once and for all. He wants to get drunk, but he can't get the look Steve always gave him out of his head, so he doesn't. It's worse that way, sober, and Tony thinks,  _I deserve this_.


	5. Tony embarrasses Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title really about sums it up. Warnings: none.

Steve had only told Tony about a hundred thousand times in the past nine years Peter had been attending school—including preschool and kindergarten—that wearing wife beaters to pick their son up from school was Not Appropriate. Something about having images to uphold, being national icons, et cetera. So as Tony hustled out the door to pick Pete up from school, he grabbed the nearest thing that caught his sight—the sweater Steve had given him last Christmas—and shrugged it on without thinking much other than that it'd save him a lecture.

So he was a bit confused when he pulled up to the curb, Peter took one look at him, and baulked.

"C'mon Pete, hop to it," Tony called.

"No. No, no way." Peter shook his head quickly, eyes wide. A girl looked at him, and he quickly added, "This man is not my father. I have never seen him before in my life, I swear."

"One of these days someone's going to believe you." Tony just rolled his eyes.

"Good, maybe then you won't pick me up in ugly sweaters anymore!"

"Pops got this for me for Christmas, thank you very much." Tony just huffed, not at all embarrassed.

"It's glowing, Dad!"

"It's Rudolph, of course it glows."

"It's April, what is wrong with you?"

"Can I come home with you?" The Wilson kid Peter couldn't seem to shake appeared beside him on the curb. "Pretty please?"

"Not now, Wade," Peter grumbled, so Wade turned to Tony.

"I love your sweater sir can I come home with your son?"

"Why thank you, yes you may," Tony told Wade, then turned to Peter, "See? Your friends have good taste."

"He's not my friend, Dad! Wade, get out of my car!" Peter protested, horrified, "Dad, do not let him come home with us!"

"Fine. Wade, you're out, Pete, you're in, it's time to roll."

"Aw!" Wade complained, but Peter was already talking again.

"There is no 'rolling' here, it is not 'time to roll', no one says that, Dad, god."

"Pops says it."

"Pops is a hundred years old!"

"I know, and he married me to keep him hip and happening." Tony winked, and Peter sank to the curb with a groan.

"Why is this my life?"

"C'mon Pete, I have things to do today," Tony insisted, "Chop chop."

"You just want to get home in time to watch that stupid show teenage werewolf show with Pops."

"Lies."

"Why couldn't I have had normal parents?"

"You got lucky, now get in the car."

"Not with you dressed like that."

"Peter, if you make me miss the opening sequence and therefore Tyler Hoechlin's abs, I swear I will pick you up next time in the Ironette costume I wore last Halloween, you know I will—"

"Jesus, Dad, I'm in the car already, just drive!"


	6. Avengers become baby chicks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve does have better things to do with his time, but even he can admit they're kind of cute. Warnings: none.

Steve stood stock still for a long moment.

"I don't understand," he admitted at last.

"Team leader." Nick pointed at him, then at the box of baby chicks he'd just shoved into Steve's hands. "Your problem."

"What does being team leader have to do…with…" Steve trailed off as one of the chicks in the box started flying.

Using its little, red and gold, chicky armor.

"Tony?" Steve's voice was a little squeakier than he would've liked, but.

His boyfriend was a chick.

The baby-rooster kind, not the slang-for-a-woman kind. Steve wasn't sure if that was better or worse or just yet another kind of weird. Examining the other yellow puff-balls in the box, Steve could actually kind of pick them out now. One even had a cluster of red-orange feathers tucked behind its head, somewhat like the hair of a familiar assassin.

"Please tell me this is an unnecessarily elaborate prank," Steve pleaded.

"Yeah, I like to build chick-sized armor in my free time," Nick grumbled irritably, swatting Tony down back into the box.

"Hey!" Steve shot a distressed glare at Nick, then hoisted the box with one hand so he could use the other to scoop Tony out. "Are you okay?"

Tony gave a little whine, but nuzzled Steve's palm. Steve had no idea how to interpret that.

"Loki?" Steve assumed, and Nick snorted.

"Count the chicks, Captain."

Steve did, trying to identify them as he went along. Tony was obvious. Red-feathers was probably Natasha. Thor had an itty bitty hammer balanced on his back. Then three he couldn't specify, which were probably Clint, Bruce, and…

"Who's the extra?"

Tony began cheeping at him indignantly, and Steve got the distinct impression Tony had forgotten he couldn't actually speak.

"Honey," Steve said gently, "I can't understand you."

Tony's beak twitched, giving him a distinctly horrified expression.

"He's trying to tell you Loki's spell was a little more powerful than Loki himself was anticipating." Nick poked around in the box a moment, before hoisting one up. "Keep eyes on this one, Cap."

"Uh." Steve gave a polite cough. "Sir?"

"I mean it." Nick glared at the chick, squeezing it a little. "This little rat with feathers went and—"

"Sir." Steve interrupted a bit more forcefully, though he was trying not to laugh. "I think that's Clint."

"What?" Nick squinted at the chick, who peeped loudly in agreement. "How can you tell?"

"Because I think Loki's the one trying to eat Thor's foot."

Steve gestured to the box, where one of the chicks was pecking angrily at the chick with the hammer on its back, presumably Thor. The minute Steve finished speaking, Loki slapped a wing at Thor's head and hopped away, squawking at Steve indignantly all the while.

"Do you think they can understand each other?" Steve peered into the box curiously.

"Let's hope you can." Nick gave a little snort, turning on his heel.

"Wait, I can't take care of these—uh, them—I don't know anything about…" Steve trailed off as Nick disappeared around a corner, disinterested in Steve's inabilities with animals.

Tony wiggled in his hand before launching up into the air again, little repulsors firing warm against Steve's palm before he flew up to land on Steve's shoulder and settle in. He gave a little nip at Steve's ear in something like a hello. Steve patted his iron exterior with a sigh.

This was going to be a long day.


	7. Pepper is queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony loses a bet and has to pamper Pepper like the queen she is. Steve should really not be surprised by anything Tony does at this point. Warnings: crossdressing in a joking context.

"This isn't what it looks like!"

"I remember when you used to say that to me." Pepper laughed, flicking to the next page of her magazine unperturbed.

"I can explain—"

"That too." Pepper flicked another page.

"Not helping." Tony stopped trying to salvage the situation long enough to glare at her. She lowered her magazine enough to raise an eyebrow at him, still completely uncaring of his woes.

"Uh, I—" Steve started, then stopped. He tried again. "Tony?"

"Like I said, this isn't what it looks like—"

"It looks like you're painting Pepper's toes in a maid's outfit." Steve blinked rapidly. His eyes ducked down, lingered, then darted back up. "A too-short maid's outfit."

"It was the only one that fit, okay? And screw you, I have fantastic thighs, I can show them off if I want to—"

"I know you do, and I know you can. I didn't say I didn't like the view, did I?" Steve did look a little warm under the collar, come to think of it. "Just curious why I'm receiving it. In your office. Your  _work_  office."

"I may have lost a bet."

"I figured. Well, hoped."

"Hoped?"

"I'm not certain what it would say about my taste in men if you did this for kicks."

"Skirt not doing it for you?"

"Not particularly."

"Guess we can cross that one off the list."

"Not until you've finished my left foot, you can't." Pepper wiggled her toes, lowering her magazine once more to shoot Tony a withering look.

"I'll, uh." Steve glanced between them. "I think I'll take you for lunch tomorrow, instead."

"No, baby, come back, don't leave me alone with her, I love y—!"

The door shut in his face.

Damn it.


	8. Home Is Where the Time Machine Is blurb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A blurb from another fic of mine, Home Is Where the Time Machine Is. Anna's first attempt at bringing a boy home. Warnings: established original character (Steve and Tony's daughter).

Anna was thirteen when she brought her first boy home: Jack Cooper. He was fourteen, played basketball, and had the absolute cutest smattering of freckles across his cheeks. He came over to 'hang out', which she hoped could be code for a date, or at least a potential one.

When they walked in the door, Uncle Thor and her pops raced past, Uncle Clint and her dad on their respective shoulders, everyone naked except for boxers, whipped cream, and a lot of paint. Uncle Clint chose that particular moment to launch off Uncle Thor's shoulders and tackle Dad, and they all went crashing to the floor. As they all groaned in pain, Dad announced, far too loudly, "If that's not Steve's hand in my underwear right now, we're gonna have to talk boundaries again, guys."

Jack took a picture.

Pops, hearing the click of Jack's phone, swiveled his head. Catching sight of Jack, he shoved Dad off his stomach and sat up to chirp far too eagerly, "Oh, hello, are you Annie's boyfriend, the basketball player?"

Uncle Clint, hearing this, shot Jack in the crotch with his paintball gun. "Not anymore he's not."

As Jack doubled over with an admittedly rather high pitched noise, Uncle Thor told him disapprovingly, "Those are not the noises of a warrior. Anna, princess, find someone who will fight for your hand, not whine over it."

"Uncle Clint shot him!" Anna protested, "Of course he's going to sound like that! Jack, are you okay?"

"I don't sound like that when I get shot," Dad huffed.

"Yes you do," Pops told him.

"Can I go home now?" Jack whimpered.

She never did get that date, though she did later find the picture on stupidcelebs dot com.


	9. Steve and Tony have multi-verse children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A gap in time and space allows twelve of Steve and Tony's children from another verse fall into their living room. Warnings: twelve original characters.

"Um."

There were no words for this.

Tony was a genius and superhero. He both saw and created crazy, impossible things at least twice a week these days. So when JARVIS told him there had been an "event" in the living room, Tony had been prepared for a lot. A dozen mini-Steves of various ages sprawled on his couch was not quite strangest thing he'd seen, perhaps, but it was pretty damn high up there.

"Ada!"

The toddler was the first to spot him. Tony's eyes widened and he briefly considered bolting.

"Dad!"

"It's Daddy!"

"Why's your hair like that, Dad?"

Oh God.

The children converged, hopping off his couch and racing towards him on stubby legs, grinning toothy grins and opening their arms wide.

Yeah, he bolted.

"Steve!" he shouted, "What did you do?"

"Ton—? Oof!"

They collided, Steve turning the corner into the hallway just as Tony was racing out. They both hit the floor, and the mini-Steves caught up with them. Real Steve's eyes widened comically, and the children tackled them. One of the kids, maybe four or so, even crawled into Tony's lap and hugged him tightly around the waist.

"Daddy!"

"What happened, Dad?"

"Look, it's this verse's Pops!"

"Adadadada…" The youngest, maybe one and half or so, toddled around the corner, babbling to himself. The tyke threw his arms up jubilantly when he caught sight of Tony. "Ada!"

"Um," Tony repeated, too many questions blocking up his brain to get one out. The tiniest barreled towards him, stumbling over himself to clutch at Tony's shirt with his little hands, still babbling. "Oh god, it's drooling on me."

"Why do they all look like me?" Steve managed to ask, grabbing an older one by the back of the shirt, "What's your name, sport?"

"Whaddaya mean, what's my name?" The boy frowned. "Didja hit your head or somethin'?"

The oldest mini-Steve grabbed the younger one and pulled him away with a sigh.

"Liam, I told you, that's not Pop."

"Where did you all come from?" Tony managed to get his voice back. "JARVIS, tell the others we're going to need some assistance down here."

"Yes, sir."

"Dad, what's going on?"

"You're asking me? You're the ones in my house!" Tony protested.

"Which one of you is the oldest?" Steve asked curiously.

"Me," the oldest informed them, grabbing the toddler in Tony's lap and pulling him away, "Ronan, come here."

"Ada!" the toddler just screeched, upset, "Want ada!"

"That's not Daddy, Ro," the oldest insisted, picking up the toddler and looking at Tony and Steve seriously, "Guys, get behind me. Connor, go get Ollie off the couch, Fletch left him when he thought he saw Dad."

"I forgot it wasn't him." One of the boys squirmed while the others hastily followed orders, getting behind the oldest, who shielded them protectively even as he bounced the toddler, Ronan. "He looks like Dad."

"I know, Fletcher. Just get behind me, okay?" he turned to Steve and Tony next, who were still busy gaping, "My name is Steven Andrew Rogers, but you call me Andrew. You're this verses' Steve Rogers and Tony Stark, right?"

"Why do you all keep calling me Dad if you're clearly Steve's kids?" Tony managed.

"Do you have a Dr. Reed Richards in this universe?" the kid, Andrew, deflected neatly.

"Oh wow children," Clint interrupted abruptly, popping his head into the hallway, Natasha two steps behind him.

"Tony, what have you done now?" she sighed.

"It wasn't me!" Tony complained at the same time Ronan bubbled up, "Asha!"

"That's not Aunt Tasha, Ronan." Andrew sighed.

"Excuse me?" She raised an eyebrow.

"What's all this?" Bruce was the last to enter, looking as confused as any of them.

"The Dr. Richard of our universe fouled up," Andrew informed them crisply, "At least, that's my working assumption."

"You always told—er." One of the other boys, younger than Andrew but not by much, rubbed the back of his head as he looked at Tony sheepishly. "I mean, our parents, always told us if anything dimension-shifting happened it was likely to be Dr. Richards or Doctor Strange."

"And the Avengers were out assisting the Fantastic Four when the portal opened over Stark Tower," Andrew finished, "So we assume it's Dr. Richards. The portal sent us here just a moment ago."

"The Steve of your universe has twelve kids?" Clint gaped, the rest of the story not half as important.

"With me?" Tony glanced down at his very male body parts. "Okay, quick but very important sidebar: am I the chick in your universe, or is he?"

"We have two daddies and lotsa aunts and uncles and a Coulson and our family may be different but different is better so you can take your conformative beliefs and go suck it!" one of the younger ones piped up, looking quite offended.

"It's 'normative' beliefs, Liam." Andrew sighed. "And he wasn't being rude, he just wanted to know how we were made."

"I'm rather curious myself." Bruce examined one of the Steves curiously.

"AIM thought that Pops' serum-enhanced abilities and leadership skills would make a good match with Dad's intelligence and ingenuity. When Dad got turned into a woman by Loki, AIM managed to get a sample of female Dad's DNA. From that, they developed us." Andrew rolled up his sleeve, revealing a tattoo—A31. "They manufactured us for a couple years before Pops got wind of it. He and the Avengers crashed the labs and took us in."

"All twelve of you?" Steve blinked widely.

"There were originally over 3,600 of us and counting, but most didn't survive outside of a test tube."

"I have 3,600 multiverse children. With Captain Ameri—oh god, I need to sit down." Tony groaned.

"You are sitting," one of the mini-Steves pointed out.

"Then why is the world still spinning?"

"Because we have 3,600 multiverse children." Steve just blinked again, still unable to take his eyes off Andrew. "And twelve of them are in our living room."

"Right. Remind me, why did I want to join the Avengers Initiative again?"


	10. New Year's Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's New Year's Eve and Tony is nervous. Steve is not. Warnings: none.

He had to just go for it.

Five more steps across the ballroom tile would be all it took. Five anxious, endless steps, and he'd be directly in view of the man he'd been so obviously watching all night. Five steps, and he could perfect or ruin his life. Perhaps that was a bit dramatic; regardless, five steps, and he would know for certain. Five steps, and all the little things he'd let give him hope over the years would be cemented in stone as a  _yes_ or a  _no._

Five steps, and there could be no turning back.

Tony shrank back into the crowd as Steve turned his head. God, he was such a fucking coward. He turned away, pretended to be interested in a conversation about stocks until he was certain Steve hadn't seen him. He probably wasn't looking for Tony specifically; they hadn't seen each other all night, sure, but they hadn't made plans to, either. It was the Van Dyne's famous New Year's party, Steve would certainly understand if Tony was busy. Either way, Tony would prefer it if Steve didn't catch sight of him. Tony wasn't sure if he was going to be able to do this or not, and he'd rather not face Steve until he knew.

It should be easy. Everything else with Steve was. Well, 'easy' was perhaps the wrong word, they fought tenaciously, but there was something just so  _natural_ about it. As if they'd known each other decades instead of just six too-short years. He needed Steve like he needed nothing else, and maybe that was what made this all so damn hard. If Steve was just another pretty blonde, Tony could stride over and ask him to dance without a thought. Could ask him back to his place even, strike up a flirty conversation with suggestive innuendo and push his hand for a New Year's kiss with high hopes, and simply shrug and move along if he was shot down. There were no stakes, with simple pretty blondes.

With Steve, everything was at stake. More than just his heart, which could be damn fragile enough, but their friendship could—would, there was no doubt—be hurt. Steve's friendship was the most precious thing Tony had, and whether Steve accepted or declined, it wouldn't be the same. In Tony's wildest dreams, of course, it would be better, made stronger by the added facet of intimacy. However, should Steve, in all likelihood, turn him down…well. They'd had their fights, their splits, their friendship-shaking disagreements. They'd weathered a lot together, and Tony suspected they could weather his accidental infatuation as well. Even so, it would make Steve uncomfortable around him for at least a little while, and things would undoubtedly change between them. He couldn't be sure if—

Wait, where was Steve going?

He momentarily debated how creepy and or obvious it would be to follow him, then Steve disappeared out Tony's sight and rationale disappeared as well. Tony quickly side-stepped two of his investors looking to brownnose— _yep, great quarter, next year will be great, let's talk then—_ and a drunken Clint singing carols— _the halls are plenty decked, dumbass, now move out of my way—_ before catching a glimpse of Steve heading out a side door Tony knew led to the balcony.

Five steps all over again; this time, those five steps would put him out on a balcony on New Years. With Steve. Alone. A glance at his phone said it was 11:57, nearly midnight. If Tony wanted to try his luck at that kiss he'd have to get out there. No turning back, no changing his mind, no ducking out at the last second like some goddamn coward. He had to go because if he had even the slimmest of chances at being with Steve the way he wanted to be, he owed it to himself to try.

He slipped out the side door after Steve. The soldier was leaning over the balcony, elbows propped and eyes raised high to the stars. He had a soft smile on his face; Steve loved the stars. He was always trying to get Tony to go camping with him, offering to show him the constellations and how to navigate by them.

"See anything you like?" Tony cleared his throat.

"Sure do." Steve glanced over at him, smile never faltering.

"Oh?" Tony joined Steve in leaning over the railing. He wasn't the best with constellations, but Steve had shown him a handful before. "Where?"

"Pretty nearby." Steve made a face, a very specific face, somewhere between his indecisive face and his gathering-courage face. "Off to my right."

"Pretty vague directions there, Cap." Tony chuckled. "What's it look like?"

"Hard to describe." Steve hummed. "Pretty unique, actually. One of the most fascinating sights I've ever seen."

"Some kind of cosmic event?" Tony squinted, but he didn't see much of anything beyond some twinkly lights.

"Something like that."

Tony glanced to Steve for more guidance—seriously, he was no expert but he was pretty positive there was nothing unusual in tonight's sky—and found Steve watching him with the same smile he'd been aiming at the cosmos. Perhaps softer. Tony, caught up in the moment and the moonlight reflecting in Steve's eyes, leaned in. For a moment, he caught Steve maybe doing the same.

"Ten!" The crowd inside startled them both. "Nine!"

"Oh." Steve glanced inside. "Midnight already?"

"Eight!"

"Nearly." Tony nodded. "Ready for the New Year?"

"Seven!"

"Hope so." Steve smiled.

"Six!"

"Any resolutions?"

"Five!"

"Just one."

"Four!"

"And?"

"Three!"

"Tell you in a minute."

"Two!"

"Suit yourself, Cap."

"One!"

Tony slid a hand over Steve's shoulder to tug him in and press a kiss— _fucking hell he was such a goddamn coward—_ to Steve's cheek. Before he could pull away and bluster something about New Years spirit, a warm hand wrapped around the back of his neck and turned him forward. Steve kissed softly, gentle but without hesitation.

"Look at that," Steve murmured, pulling back just an inch with a breathless, winning smile, "Already fulfilled my resolution."


	11. Nat and Tony are bros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nat and Tony are bros who speak Italian with each other and spar and giggle about boys and Steve is Absolutely Not Jealous. Warnings: none.

He was more mature than this.

Well.

He was supposed to be, anyway.

"Christ, Tasha." Tony groaned. "I asked you for a spar, not a beating."

"Then spar with Steve _._ " Natasha snorted, lending him a hand to haul him up.

Steve wasn't sure what that was supposed to imply. Yes, he pulled his punches with Tony a little, but he pulled his punches with everyone whose head he didn't want to cave in. If he did it a  _little_ more with Tony than anyone else…well, how would Natasha know, anyway?

"I'll spar with you, if you want," Steve offered anyway, trying his best not to look too eager. Tony never sparred with him anymore; he missed it more than he'd care to admit out loud.

"Nah." Tony waved him off. "I'm maybe thirty years away from winning a round with her, I don't want to get set back."

"Oh." Steve nodded quickly, punching the heavybag a little harder. "Yeah. That's fine."

"Sei un idiota," Natasha chided Tony, but there was a fondness to her tone.  _You're such an idiot._

They thought he didn't speak Italian. Steve loosed a punch that would've shattered a man's jaw. He knew they thought he didn't, because they spoke it around him constantly. It was their own little shared language, Tony because his mother had spoken it to him, Natasha because she knew more languages than everyone in the Tower combined. They were always chattering away in Italian, no room for anyone else in their shared space. Every time Steve turned around they were huddled together, reading books or watching movies or sparring like old friends, talking and talking and talking.

For a little while, Steve had thought they were dating; he'd even gone and asked Clint about it. Clint had mocked him for weeks afterwards. Even without Clint's completely unhelpful teasing, Steve knew now that they weren't dating. He knew this, because nearly every time he caught them talking in Italian now, their conversations were about someone Tony only ever referred to as  _tesoro;_ his treasure, his beloved, his sweetheart. Any translation of it made Steve's heart hurt just the same.

When he'd first heard it, for a brief, delusional moment, Steve's hopes had been raised. Tony's sweetheart was a man. If things didn't work out with this  _tesoro_ person, Steve at least had a chance, right? But after weeks of overhearing these conversations, Steve knew his chances had been dead in the water from the very start. Tony was  _devoted_ to this person, completely and utterly head over heels for them. All Steve ever heard between Tony and Natasha now was how much Tony admired his  _tesoro,_ how kind and courageous and thoughtful and whatever else they were being that particular day. It was a never-ending torture, hearing Tony go on and on about good they were, how sweet they were, how disgustingly perfect they were.

Okay, so maybe Tony hadn't said  _disgustingly_ perfect.

Steve knew green wasn't a pretty color on anyone, but he couldn't help it. Who was  _that_  good, anyway? There had to be something wrong with them. Steve just didn't want Tony to get hurt, that was all. Obviously. Tony talked about this guy like he'd hung the damn moon in the sky, but couldn't bring himself to ask him on a date for fear of rejection. What kind of guy intimidated someone like Tony? Tony was fearless, bold and brave and more than a little reckless. What made this  _tesoro_ person so great that he gave Tony nerves?

It hurt a little that Tony didn't trust Steve enough to talk to him about whoever he'd fallen for, but if Steve was being honest, it hurt a lot more that it wasn't him.

He hit the punching bag a little harder as Natasha and Tony's conversation inevitably turned back to the great damn  _tesoro_  himself.

"Se vinco questo round devi chiedergli di uscire a cena," Natasha challenged.  _If I win this round, you have to ask him out to dinner._

"Sei fuori di testa?" Tony rolled his eyes.  _Are you out of your mind?_

"Non è che diventi più giovane, sai," Natasha taunted.  _You're not getting any younger, you know._

"Oh, brava, giochiamo la carta dell'età."  _Oh that's nice, play the age card._ Tony glared at her, going for a sweep kick. "Sai in quale altro modo possiamo giocare la carta dell'età? Parlando della differenza d'età."  _You know how else we can play the age card? The age gap._

"Come se gliene fregasse qualcosa." Natasha snorted.  _As if he cares._

"E se importa a me, invece?"  _And what if I care?_

"Non ti importa," Natasha informed him.  _You don't care._

"Non dirmi come mi sento." Tony scowled.  _Don't tell me how I feel._

"Amore è quello che senti. Lo ti dico solo come ti stai comportando e ti stai comportando da idiota."  _Love is how you feel. I'm telling you how you're being, and you're being an idiot._

"Non è amore," Tony denied, as he always did.  _It's not love._

Natasha shot Tony the most deadpan, unamused look Steve had ever seen from her. "Hai passato tre ore la scorsa settimana a spiegarmi in straziante dettaglio, come tu potresti essere il compagno perfetto per lui se solo lui te ne desse l'opportunità."  _You spent three hours last week explaining to me in excruciating detail precisely how you would be the perfect partner to him if he would give you the chance._

Steve punched the heavybag harder. He remembered that conversation. Remembered all the wonderfully sweet things Tony would do for this person, how he'd always make time for them, how he'd go to the ends of the earth to protect them, how he'd tell them every day how much they meant to him and how much he appreciated them. Steve's knuckles were already starting to sting. If he didn't stop soon, they'd tear again. He didn't care.

"L'amore viene ricambiato. Non è amore. E'..." Tony sighed.  _Love is returned. It's not love. It's…_  "Forte affetto per la sua esistenza in generale."  _Strong affection for his general existence._

"E allora mostra il tuo apprezzamento per la sua esistenza in generale e portalo fuori a cena." Natasha gave a small shrug.  _So show your appreciation for his general existence and take him to dinner._

"E se lui dice di no?"  _And if he says no?_

"Comprerò del gelato, guarderemo The Notebook e guarderò dall'altra parte mentre frigni," Natasha told him, face completely deadpan.  _I'll buy you ice cream, we'll watch the Notebook, and I'll look the other way while you cry._

"Fottiti." Tony snorted.  _Screw you._

"Lui non ha intenzione di dire di no, idiota." Natasha cuffed Tony behind the head, then took him down quickly and efficiently, leg wrapping around Tony's neck.  _He's not going to say no, idiot._

"I give," Tony gasped out, English returning, "Fucking hell, I give, let me up."

"Prometti che gli chiederai di uscire," Natasha responded calmly, patiently, like one would to a child.  _Promise you'll ask him to dinner._

"Non riesco a respirare, fottuta imbrogliona!"  _I can't breathe, you fucking cheater!_

"Sì, che ce la fai, non fare il bambino," Natasha told him simply.  _Yes, you can, don't be a baby._ "Sono stufa di questa telenovela. si spellerà le nocche di nuovo se non ti decidi a porre fine alle sue sofferenze."  _I'm sick of the soap opera. He's going to rip open his knuckles again if you don't put him out of his misery._

Wait, what?

"Che diavolo vuol dire le _sue_ sofferenze?" Tony demanded.  _What do you mean,_ his  _misery?_  "Sono io qui quello che non riesce a respirare!"  _I'm the one who can't breathe here!_

Steve stopped hitting the heavybag. He glanced down at his knuckles; they  _were_ close to tearing, little specks of blood dotting the tape he'd wrapped them in. She couldn't mean…

"Fantastico, adesso mi sta fissando, perchè mi sta fissando?" Tony muttered.  _Great, now he's looking at me, why is he looking at me?_ "Dai, fammene vincere almeno una, eh? Per favore? Farà colpo su di lui, anche se solo un pochino."  _Come on, let me win one, please? It'll impress him a little._

Impress…who? No one else was in the gym except for him. Steve had the urge to look around for Tony's mystery man, but fought it because the pieces were sliding into place and he'd been damn stupid long enough. A swell of hope rushed up fast enough he almost couldn't breath through it, and he dropped his fighting stance by the heavybag to start over towards the ring when Natasha had Tony pinned.

"Oddio, sta venendo qui, merda, fammi alzare—"  _Oh god, he's coming over, shit, let me up—_ Natasha released him and he gulped in air for a moment before hauling himself up to raise a faux casual eyebrow at the approaching Steve. "What's up, Cap? You've got the whole determined look going on."

Steve ignored him, swinging up by the ropes and ducking into the ring. He walked straight to Tony, asking as clearly and directly as he could, "Sei innamorato di me?"

_Are you in love with me?_

Tony went white as a sheet.

"Удачи, идиоты." Natasha snorted softly in a language Steve didn't understand, exiting the ring.

He probably should've wondered what she'd said, but he didn't. He didn't care about anything in the world that wasn't Tony staring back at him, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape, until he breathed in and clenched his teeth and tightened his fists.

"You  _knew?"_ Tony hissed, anger and humiliation sparking. He shoved Steve, hard, and Steve let him. He knew Tony was going to take it the wrong way, but he couldn't help breaking into a beaming smile like the damn fool he was. "You fucking jackass! You spoke Italian this whole goddamn time and you let me go on pining over you like some pathetic  _idiot?_  Quit _smiling_  you fucking asshole, I can't believe you would—"

"Anch'io ti amo, tesoro." Steve clasped both hands to Tony's face.  _I love you too, sweetheart._

"—do that to m—oh. I. Oh." Tony swallowed. "Really?"

Steve kissed him in lieu of an answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to correct my poorly google-translated Italian.


	12. Mpreg (not in any way detailed)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few months ago, Loki turned Tony into a woman. Now, he and Steve deal with unforeseen consequences. Warnings: mpreg, though not in any way detailed. All that happens is the doctor tells them, and they deal with it emotionally.

"What the  _fuck_ does that mean?"

"It…" Dr. Eckman paused, clearly not understanding what a rhetorical question was. "It means you're with child, Mr. Stark."

"I know the definition of pregnant you incompetent jackass," Tony snapped, "I was asking why the hell you're using that word and my name in the same sentence. I have—I have the flu, or something! I only even  _asked_ you to come into my goddamn home because Steve insisted I see a doctor, but apparently we're going to have to find someone else after I sue you for gross incompetence—"

"Tony,  _stop."_ Steve pressed both hands to his forehead.

"Are you alri—" Dr. Eckman started.

" _Everyone,"_  Steve demanded firmly, Captain America voice in full throttle. He raised one of his hands to block the doctor from his view. "Stop. Just…stop. I need a minute."

Silence fell while Steve rubbed his palms over his eyes. They were in their bedroom, the only place they could get any privacy these days. Not to mention Steve hadn't let Tony out of bed in a week, not since he'd started throwing up half his stomach contents every morning. Even now, Tony was only sitting on the edge of the bed, Steve at his side, Dr. Eckman fidgeting nervously in front of them. Tony glared at him as poisonously as he could manage.

"Dr. Eckman." Steve breathed in once, out once. "If this is a joke, let me strongly assure you that it is absolutely not amusing."

"I promise you, I wouldn't joke about—" Dr. Eckman began.

"Then explain," Steve interrupted, and that was how Tony knew Steve was well and truly freaking out.

"I…I'm afraid I don't have an explanation, sir, Mr, uh, Captain Stark—"

"Commander," Tony corrected irritably, "He's a Commander."

"It's fine, Tony." Steve waved a hand, still focused on the doctor. "What do you mean, you don't have an explanation? If you can't explain it, how did you come to that conclusion?"

"Well, I have…some understanding." Dr. Eckman paused, frowned, then shook his head, turned to Tony. "I believe…well, externally, Mr. Stark, you're clearly male—"

"Clearly," Steve intoned dryly.

"But, uh." Dr. Eckman shot a nervous glance at Steve's tense form. "But all the tests I've run have your hormone levels as that of a females. I suspect if I were to take x-rays, your internal sex organs would be female as well."

"You can't possibly be telling me that in forty fucking years none of my doctors ever realized I had  _female sex organs_ you incompetent twit," Tony snarled, "Do the goddamn tests again."

"How far along is it?" Steve asked quietly.

"Don't say that." Tony looked at Steve sharply. "Don't encourage him, Steve. There is no  _it,_ there is nothing in me but cold pizza, a gallon of coffee, and  _male_  sex organs—"

"Tony." Steve's voice was eerily quiet. "You had female everything three months ago."

"That was—" Tony sputtered, "That was  _magic,_ that was Loki being a fucking shithead, that has nothing to do with this."

"You were like that for almost a month, Tony. We had plenty of chances to conceive a—"

"Do not the word," Tony hissed, "Do  _not_ make this real, Steve, this is a horrible joke and I won't fall for it—"

"What if…what if you were pregnant before Loki changed you back?" Steve's brow was furrowed in thought. His gaze darted up to meet Tony's eyes finally, and he leaned in closer, took Tony's hand. "What if Loki couldn't change you all the way back? That could be why internally you're still—"

"I'm not a woman!" Tony sapped, yanking his hand away and standing abruptly.

"I know, sweetheart." Steve's voice went soft.

It was the same way his voice had gone soft three months ago when Tony had been freaking out about being stuck female for who knew how long. He hadn't taken it well, he knew, but Steve had been nothing but kind to him through it all. He'd even kept the jokes to a minimum, and only when Tony was in the mood for it. The first few days had been tumultuous to say the least and Tony hadn't wanted Steve anywhere near him—what if Steve had liked him  _better_ as a woman? What would he have done with that information?—but Steve had been so damn  _Steve_ about it all, so understanding and sweet and sympathetic that of course Tony had given in. Besides, how could the scientist in him resist finding out what sex felt like for a woman?

By the fifth day of Tony's change, they were back to having sex as regularly as they always did, maybe even a little more than usual, experimenting and trying new things. Neither of them had considered the change permanent enough to start using condoms again—stupid, stupid,  _stupid_ they were so fucking  _stupid—_ which meant there had been roughly twenty-five to thirty chances for them to have conceived. Chances of conception were something like 15-25% as far Tony could remember, which meant roughly a one in seven shot, and they'd had sex at least twenty times, probably closer to thirty.

Tony had never loathed magic more in his entire life.

"So how do we deal with it?" Tony muttered to Dr. Eckman.

"What?" Steve's head snapped up.

"I asked how we deal with it, Steve. You heard me." Tony looked away.

"Dr. Eckman, I need a moment with my husband—" Steve told the doctor.

"No, you don't." Tony shook his head. "Because  _you're_  not the one who may have some foreign organism feeding off you—"

"It's not a tapeworm, Tony." Steve frowned, disapproval weighing heavy on his features. "It's a baby."

"Well, don't get used to it." Tony tried to meet Steve's eyes.

"How can you say that?" The hurt in Steve's gaze was unbearable; Tony looked away again.

"How do I end it?" Tony asked as firmly as he could.

"Dr. Eckman." Steve stood abruptly, jaw clenched tight. "Give us a minute."

"Of course." The doctor gathered his things. "Yes, of course, I—I'd say congratulations, but under the—"

"Get  _out,"_ Steve and Tony snapped at once.

"Right, sure, I'll be available by phone should you need me—"

"Don't leave the building," Steve instructed.

"Or I won't leave the building," Dr. Eckman conceded quickly, hoisting his duffel bag of supplies over his shoulder and ducking out the bedroom door.

The moment the door shut, Steve wilted. He sat back on the bed, taking Tony's hand and tugging him along gently.

"What if?" he asked quietly, and the longing in his voice nearly broke Tony's heart.

"There's no—no  _what if_ here—" Tony started.

"Tony." Steve squeezed his hands. "Please look at me."

"I'd rather not."

"Tony."

"Steve, I'm not…" Tony shook his head, still examining the carpet. "We've talked about this. We weren't going to adopt. How is this any different?"

"Sweetheart…" Steve brought his hands up to clasp Tony's face, gently directing his chin up so he had to make eye contact with Steve. "We  _made_ this one. You and me. Are you really saying that doesn't mean anything to you?"

Something Tony didn't want to identify swelled his chest, some insane combination of pride and terror, joy and misery. Tony rapidly blinked away whatever was in his eyes, leaning forward to bury his head against Steve's chest. Steve's arms wrapped around him, warm and immediate.

"I'd be such a terrible father," Tony whispered.

"Oh, honey." Steve kissed his hair, tightening his arms just a fraction. "If you were half as loving to a baby as you are to me, you'd be the best father in the world."

Tony pressed his face closer into Steve's chest and tried not to make a sound. Steve murmured reassurances to him without judgment, rubbing circles soothingly over Tony's back.

"It's okay, sweetheart. We'll figure this out. It's gonna be okay, I promise—"

"No." Tony shook his head miserably. "No, it's not. I know you want this, sweetheart, but I can't, I can't do this and I can't lose you and I just—please, don't leave me, I can't—"

"Don't say that." Steve released him immediately. Tony might as well have socked him in the gut. "Don't ever say that."

"Steve—" Tony knew he was begging. He couldn't bring himself to stop. "Please, just—"

Steve shook his head. "How could you possibly think—"

"I know getting rid of it sounds drastic, but this situation is—"

"Tony, you really—god, stop talking and _listen_ to me."

Steve took Tony by the shoulders to bring him to a halt. He looked devastated, hurt and angry and overwhelmed, and Tony hated himself more than ever. Steve was pro-choice, sure, but he also clearly wanted this particular baby. What if they couldn't get past this? What if Steve never forgave him, if he left him? Tony was terrified of the baby, but he was so much more terrified of losing Steve—

"Listen to me." Steve clenched his jaw. "I want the baby. I do. But though it's half mine and my opinion here sure as hell matters, I am first and foremost your husband. I didn't marry you for a baby. I married you because I love you, and I'll love you for the rest of my life, baby or no baby. How could you even think that I'd leave you over this? That I'd leave you over  _anything?"_

"I…" Tony swallowed. "You wouldn't?"

"Of  _course_ I wouldn't." Steve pulled him back into his arms. "God, Tony. I want you to give this decision more thought, but it's still  _your_  decision and whatever you decide I'm not going anywhere. I never will be."

It was the hormones. It had to be, because otherwise Tony would be utterly humiliated by the way he burst into tears at Steve's words.

"I love you," Tony hiccupped, digging his fists into Steve's shirt. "I love you so much, Steve, I'm so sorry, I love you—"

"Don't be sorry." Steve held him tight and kissed his hair. "I love you too, you have nothing to be sorry about."

"I'm just—I'm scared, Steve, I'm so fucking terrified—"

"I know." Steve pulled him closer. "I know, honey. That's what I'm here for."

They stopped talking for a while after that. Steve tugged Tony into his lap and Tony went willingly. He tucked his head against Steve's chest with an exhausted sigh, hands unconsciously dipping lower to feel his abdomen. Christ. There was a baby somewhere in there. A Steve baby. Well. Half Steve. Still, even half of Steve was enough to make a hell of a kid. Steve had so many good traits. He was brave, clever, kind, compassionate…Tony could go on for hours. He'd married the man, after all. It wasn't that he thought there  _shouldn't_ be a little Steve running around, because there absolutely should be. The world deserved more Steve.

And god, Steve would make an  _amazing_  father. Tony had seen him bouncing their friend's babies before, cooing at them happily, letting them grasp his fingers in their little fists…he could admit, the image was sweet. Tony could see him chasing after some blonde little rascal, nagging them to eat their breakfast and pick their clothes up off the floor. Could see him making their child laugh, could see him building blanket forts and teaching them to ride a bike and throwing a ball around in the park and, and…

"What if?" Tony murmured. Steve hugged him tighter.


	13. Tony is anxious about bottoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's nervous about the idea of switching things around in the bedroom. Steve encourages him. Warnings: none.

"You don't think you're being just the littlest bit silly?" Steve raised an eyebrow at Tony, amused smile on his face. They were lying in bed together, Tony on his back, Steve propped up on his elbows to lean over him.

"Don't  _mock_ me," Tony hissed, "I shared my fears with you, that took courage you fucking asshole—"

"Not mocking, sweetheart." Steve ran a placating hand over Tony's shoulder, down his arm, until he linked their fingers together. He leaned in for a brief kiss. "Never mocking. Promise."

"Sounded like mocking," Tony grumbled moodily.

"I'm just pointing out that it's actually quite pleasurable—"

"Then why're you trying to change the status quo?" Tony shot back, "Can't be that great if you want to switch things around."

"Have I ever looked to you like I was having anything less than a fantastic time?" Steve raised both eyebrows this time, daring Tony to prove him wrong. Sure, he couldn't talk quite as dirty as Tony—few could—but he was plenty vocal and encouraged Tony readily.

"Admittedly…" Tony hesitated, clearly trying to think of any instance, and coming up short. "No."

"How about if I just put it in a little bit?" Steve teased, kissing him again, quick and chaste, "It won't even count."

"Steve." Tony rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth had that fond little uptick it always got when Tony was trying his hardest not to smile.

"How about…" Steve propped himself up on both elbows so he could put his hands roughly a foot apart. "That much? That's nothing, that's only like a quarter of it—"

Tony smacked him, but the uptick turned into a full on grin. "You're an idiot. Is that supposed to convince me?"

"It was supposed to make you laugh," Steve told him, bending down for another, lingering kiss, "Sex is supposed to be fun, remember? You told me that."

"My god, you were the absolute epitome of a nervous virgin," Tony recalled with a laugh, "All that 1940's religious guilt hanging over your head like a noose."

"And  _you,"_ Steve gave him a peck, because he could and he wanted to, "Taught me that sex was fun. That it was natural and normal and that it felt great. You were so good to me, Tony. You took your time and you made me laugh and I felt so comfortable with you, I always do. You were gentle with me at first because I needed you to be, and I could do that for you, sweetheart, I could be careful and slow and—"

"Steve…" Tony gave an exasperated sigh, turning his head away a little. Steve used that as an opportunity to press kisses along the line of his neck. Tony gave an appreciative hum. "It isn't…uncomfortable?"

"Little bit," Steve answered honestly, because he wasn't going to lie, "For a few seconds. But uncomfortable, not painful, and if we go slow it'll barely even be that. And after the first few seconds it's wonderful, Tony."

"Wonderful, huh?" Tony mulled that over, his voice thoughtful.

"Wonderful," Steve promised, returning to kissing his way along Tony's neck enticingly, "We've got work off, the others know better than to bother us, and the chances of two supervillain attacks in one day are high, even for us…we've got all day to make it wonderful, honey."

"Steve Rogers, suggesting a lazy day of tomfoolery and shenanigans?" Tony faux gasped, doing his horrible approximation of a Brooklyn accent. "Never thought I'd see the day. Have I well and truly corrupted you at last?"

"You know I  _hate it,"_ Steve emphasized the words with a nip to Tony's neck, "When you do that."

"Dollface, you love it when I do this." Tony grinned, still not dropping the accent.

"You sound like a cross between some country hick and a Chicago mobster, not a Brooklynite," Steve replied, letting his own quite real accent drop. Tony shivered with a pleased smile. "You jus' like making me prove you wrong."

"Little bit," Tony admitted, still beaming.

"Lotta bit," Steve corrected, settling in for another kiss, this one longer, more intense than the last. When he pulled away, Tony threw an arm over his face.

"Fine," Tony mumbled into his elbow.

"What was that, beloved?" Steve teased, kissing the hollow of Tony's throat.

"I said fine," Tony removed his arm, "Fine, yes, fuck me, but you're using at least two bottles of lube and if you break me, I'm telling everyone about how you thought a blowjob actually involved blowing on my dick."

"No, you wouldn't." Steve kissed him, completely secure in the knowledge that Tony would never actually use a personal moment between them to embarrass him like that. "But I'm going to take perfect care of you anyway."

"Yeah, yeah." Tony hooked an arm around Steve's neck, tugging him down with a fond smile. "I know."


	14. Serial killer Steve AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This will be expanded upon at some point, and when it is, I'll take this chapter down. For now, this is Steve as a serial killer who only feels one thing, loyalty to Tony. Warnings: talk of murder (non-explicit), warped character, and unhealthy codependence by Steve.

Looking back, he thinks his first should've been over something important.

There should've been a snap. One, decisive moment, in which everything changed. That's the way it is in books, isn't it? There's always a reason, always a backstory, something to explain why he is the way he is. An excuse, really. Because he's many, many things, but stupid has never been one of them and he knows he wasn't always like this. He can remember what it was like, before. Can remember himself telling Erskine,  _I don't want to kill anyone; I don't like bullies, I don't care where they're from_ and absolutely meaning it. Can remember being so careful with his shield, with his strength, with his aim, always avoiding the killshot. More than anything, he remembers the feeling of loss over the ones he did kill—and Christ, they were damn  _Nazi's—_ and how the taking of a life, any life, once weighed heavily on his chest.

His first kill was because they were in his way.

It was maybe two minutes out of the ice. He remembers the slow dawn of wakefulness. Remembers enjoying the warmth of the sheets after a hundred—he'd thought a hundred at the time, it was only later he learned it had been seventy—years of being encased in ice. Remembers looking around with idle interest, listening to the ball game he remembers seeing for himself. Remembers getting up, and having a woman stop him. Tell him to sit down. He tells her to move out of his way. She doesn't. She should've moved. Everything would've been so much simpler if she'd moved.

But she didn't, so he'd snapped her neck and walked by.

Later, he tells his SHIELD-mandated therapist that he killed her because he'd thought she was a Nazi keeping him there under false pretenses. A creative lie, he thinks. It was a fair assumption, after all, and why his transgression was ultimately overlooked—being Captain America sure didn't hurt either—but it wasn't the real reason. He couldn't have been sure exactly how long he'd been stuck in the Arctic, but he sure as hell knew it wasn't the 1940's. He knew she wasn't a Nazi. He knew she was a part of the organization that had defrosted him, and he knew that before the ice, he would've cared about that. Been…grateful, he supposes. But she blocked his way, so he'd eliminated her.

He remembers that, in the brief space between when he'd killed her and when SHIELD has descended on him, he hadn't felt anything. He hadn't felt good about killing her, but he hadn't felt bad, either. It hadn't even felt strange. His first voluntary kill, and there was no real rhyme or reason to it. She was a problem and he'd solved it. He thinks Tony might like that analysis, if he ever has to explain why he does the things he does. He doesn't really see people, anymore. He sees problems and solutions, sees end goals and means to get there. It's mathematical, in a way, though math was never really his subject. It was always art, but the ice changed that too. He doesn't draw anymore. He doesn't dwell on why.

The pity about lying, however, is that the really good ones are the ones you have to keep to yourself, which is why he lets everyone think he was asleep for those seventy long years. That he simply took a cozy little ice nap, and woke up just in time to save their version of his world. People like that story better, anyway. Happier ending.

He used to be one of them, he thinks. Invested in the idea of happy endings, of good guys and bad guys, of superheroes and supervillains, of good always prevailing and the hero getting the girl. He doesn't know why, especially not when he never had a chance at achieving it. He was always the skinniest kid on the block, always the runt, always the pipsqueak; he was no one's hero. But he hoped. He remembers what hope felt like vividly, remembers it like a word he can't quite form, so it sits on his tongue and takes up space. He doesn't know where the feeling went. He does know he's stopped worrying about it.

It doesn't make sense, to worry. It's not logical, and Steve's all about logic. He's got three tenants to his personal philosophy, his moral code: logic, honor, and loyalty. So long as he's got these three things to guide him, he thinks he'll make out okay.

Logic is obvious. Don't kill someone in broad daylight. Don't kill someone too high up or too powerful, their absence is noticeable. Try to make it look like an accident, or a supervillain. Don't kill someone in front of witnesses, unless you're positive you can also dispose of them before they reveal you. Watch out for cameraphones, they're small and trickier to catch than expected. The logical paths are always clear to him, whether or not he's in the mood to follow them, because the central tenant of logic is obvious.  _Will this get you caught?_ The rest follows.

Honor is more complex. Honor is…hard to piece apart, sometimes. He doesn't really feel much anymore, doesn't have that easy internal compass he remembers from before. He just remembers things he once thought, things like  _never jump a man with his back turned_ and  _if you're gonna fight make it a fair one,_ but these things aren't always feasible and it's hard to hold to them when he can't remember why they were so important in the first place. Besides, it's hard enough to give someone a fair chance against a supersoldier, but if he did, they might escape and tell the world what he's been doing; he might disappoint Tony, and that's not acceptable. So he adapts. Before the ice, his central tenant of honor would've been something like  _don't hurt the innocent,_ but after the ice, the concept of innocent is fuzzy to him. He adapts it to  _only hurt the people who deserve it,_ and he thinks it's roughly the same.

Loyalty is by far the easiest for him to follow. He doesn't always feel logical, he doesn't always want to be honorable, but loyalty is something he feels deep in his bones. Loyalty is probably the only thing he's truly  _felt_ since leaving the ice, and maybe that's his problem. He doesn't dwell on that. He doesn't divide up his loyalties, either; that's logic kicking in, reminding him that divided loyalties might mean making choices he won't want to make, choices that shake the tenuous code he's built for himself. He can't afford that. So he's not loyal to SHIELD, though they'd say differently. He's not loyal to the Avengers, either, though they absolutely believe otherwise. In his other life, he thinks he might've felt bad about that.

He's loyal to Tony, and Tony alone. His other obligations stem out from there. Tony doesn't trust SHIELD but he does use them, and working for SHIELD is a good way for Steve to do the same. So he pledges his loyalty to them, though if Tony asked him to even idly, he'd slit their leaders' throats and burn the Triskelion down without so much as a  _why?_  He joins the Avengers because Tony asks him to, associates with them because they live in the same building and Steve's far more clever than anyone save Tony gives him credit for and he knows what he has to do to sell an act. He befriends them each in their own ways.

Thor is easily sold, a few good battles together and they're calling each other blood brother. Clint is just as easy to get friendly with—the carnie's trust is another matter, but Steve hardly has any use for that—though he likes videogames and poker. Sam is much the same, and Natasha follows them, after a mission or two where he proves his worth. Steve anticipates Bruce to be the most difficult, but finds that Bruce already likes him, because Bruce has bonded with Tony and the trust he has for Tony extends to someone Tony trusts as implicitly as he trusts Steve.

Steve considers killing them, at first—it wouldn't be too hard, a few poor calls in the heat of battle and he could easily orchestrate a situation wherein he's only able to save one person, and who would blame him for choosing Tony?—but Tony likes them. They suck up his time sometimes, and that can make Steve moody, but Tony's happier for it so Steve is too. Steve knows Tony didn't have much of a family growing up, and that as they're both male he can hardly provide a new one; if these people make Tony feel loved, Steve won't harm them unless they pose a threat. It's the same reason he won't kill Pepper or Rhodey, either. No matter how much he enjoys plotting it out when Bruce takes too much of Tony's lab time, or Pepper calls Tony in for work when Steve has plans for him, or Thor drinks with him like Steve can't, Tony loves these people. He would be incredibly distraught by any of their deaths, and Steve can't do that to him.

Being with Tony…it unravels him. Tony does things to him he himself doesn't fully understand, and he doubts he ever will. Steve knows he's not fully right in the head, but he also knows that he doesn't have to be to love Tony with everything that he is; there's a lot of gray in this future, but loving Tony is crystal clear to him. Steve hasn't questioned it since the moment he saw him. Being with Tony is the closest Steve gets to who he once was, to  _feeling,_ and he thinks Tony knows that. Steve nearly confessed to him once, after all, and his Tony is a brilliant, brilliant man.

He has nightmares, probably always will. Tony's always there for him when he does, and one time after waking, Tony asked him if he wanted to talk about it. Steve told him everything he remembered, told him about what it felt like to crash into the arctic waters, to sink alone into an empty, inky darkness, to wait and wait and wait and finally give up on a rescue he always knew wouldn't be coming. To be cold in his bones for seventy years. He thinks he cried. He's doesn't remember, or he doesn't want to. What he does remember is Tony's arms around him through it all, Tony's blissfully alive body pressed against his as much as humanly possible, as if to pass along his very essence to Steve. He remembers Tony promising him he'd never be cold again, promising him warmth and love and anything he ever wanted, and that if Tony ever invented a time machine he'd go back and make sure that none of it ever happened, no matter the cost. Steve remembers telling him that he'd go through it all three times over if it meant he got to be here with Tony. He remembers meaning it.

It's the closest he'll ever come to a confession, because if Tony ever gave it any real thought, he'd know that if Steve knew all along how long he'd been under, then his story about thinking the woman was a Nazi was a lie. But maybe Tony doesn't think about it, and that's okay too. Because Steve knows he's lost some things along the way—probably a little bit of his humanity, if he's feeling rational about it all—but he really would do it all again. He doesn't feel much, these days. He doesn't draw, he doesn't connect to people the way he used to, and he's fairly certain he's lost the ability to empathize altogether, but he feels for Tony. It's different than he remembers, he thinks, and that could be the ice or it could simply be that what he felt for Peggy was a different kind of love. He doesn't know. He doesn't dwell on it. He just knows that Tony is a burst of color in his black and white world, and that when Tony's around, he feels invincible. It's the closest he's been to something like happiness in over seventy years. Maybe in all his life.


	15. Tony tries heels (for nonkinky reasons)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title sums it up. Warnings: technically crossdressing, but it's not for kinky reasons and it's not a way of expressing himself, Tony just wants to be as tall as Steve.

Steve was immediately aware that something was wrong.

There wasn't anything specific and it wasn't quite his danger sense going off, but something was different and he couldn't put a finger on it. That never meant anything good. He paused completely, observing the scene with narrowed eyes.

There was nothing immediately apparent. It was a regular Avengers breakfast. Tony had just walked in, showered and dressed to the nines for his meeting in an hour. He made a beeline for the coffee machine, as Steve had anticipated, so it was ready and waiting for him. Tony started to make off with the whole pot; Steve shot him a look. Tony scowled at him, but put the pot back for the rest of them and began to pour himself a mug instead.

Clint had his feet on the table and was drinking orange juice straight out of the carton, which was bad, but normal—what was it about Avengers and manners that just didn't seem to mix?—and Natasha had snatched Clint's crossword away by now and was ruthlessly cutting through it with a red pen. Bruce was nursing his morning tea and flicking through the news on his StarkPad, while Thor had yet to come in. But that was all normal, even Thor's absence; he did morning workouts, and often didn't join them until halfway through.

What  _was_  it?

"How did you even fit this?" Natasha remarked to Clint, exasperated.

"It's not my fault they didn't leave enough space for the correct answer." Clint shrugged.

"'Rust-causing agents' are called 'oxidents', Clint, it's a chemistry question." Natasha sighed. "Advanced Idea Mechanics agents don't cause rust, anyway."

"They made Stark's suit rust that one time," Clint pointed out.

"Still wrong." Natasha slashed off his answer. "The eggs are on fire."

"I didn't write that." Clint frowned.

"No, him." Natasha nodded her head at Steve, who blinked.

"What?"

"Your eggs are on fire."

"Oh!" Steve turned back around, grabbed the nearest dishcloth and quickly stifled it before the smoke alarm went off. "Thanks."

"What's with the zone-out?" Clint raised an eyebrow at him.

"I'm not sure." Steve frowned, still thinking it over. Something was wrong. What was wrong?

"You okay?" Tony touched his shoulder. Steve turned to face him, tell him he'd be fine, but was struck again by the sense of wrong. Tony was face to face with him, and—

"Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you grow?"

Tony laughed, kissed him without leaning up at all. "Nope."

Which made sense, considering Steve had seen him less than an hour ago. They'd been in bed, true, but that still felt like something he would've noticed. He was absolutely certain Tony hadn't been this tall last night, though, because Steve very clearly remembered leaning down like he always did. Steve pulled himself out of his confusion long enough to examine Tony, really examine him, and found that Tony's shoes had a bit of an addition to them.

"Are you wearing heels?"

"Like them?" Tony grinned. "I wear them in taped interviews sometimes, gives me more of a towering look on camera."

"Why are you wearing them now?" Steve peered at them curiously. They weren't the teetering, spindly kind he often saw Pepper and Natasha wear but regular men's leather shoes, just with a taller heel, still thick and sturdy.

"For you," Tony said earnestly, and Clint dropped his orange juice carton on the table loudly.

"Hey!" Clint pointed a finger at them accusingly. "We have rules for a reason, and that reason is my sanity—no discussing your kinks in public areas."

"It's not a kink." Steve sighed at Clint, then, on second thought, not wanting to dismiss Tony if it was, "Is it a kink, honey?"

"No." Tony rolled his eyes. "But this way we're the same height, you don't have to always lean down to kiss me. It's easier."

"Wearing heels all day is easier than leaning up an inch or two to kiss me?" Steve asked dubiously.

He'd worn heels himself, once; the USO girls he'd travelled with had spent hours complaining about how hard it was dancing in heels, and he, young and stupid, had thought aloud that it couldn't really be that hard. They'd made him wear them for an hour, and he'd learned to keep his mouth shut on the subject except to offer foot rubs after the shows.

"Yes?" Tony tried.

"Go take them off." Steve laughed, kissing him again for good measure. He didn't add that he liked being able to tower over Tony a little; he'd just get an indignant sputter. "Pepper'll kill me if I let you go to the meeting like that."

"She won't notice." Tony scoffed. "Her heels are so high she'd still be taller than me like this. Why do I only seem to hang around with tall people?"

"Tony." Steve chuckled.

"Yeah, yeah," Tony grumbled, "Half an hour and my feet are already killing me anyway."

"Your heel game is weak, Stark." Clint snorted.

Tony raised an eyebrow at him. "What, and your heel game is strong? Why?"

"Budapest," Natasha remarked mildly, not looking up from Clint's crossword, "And 45 down is 'Hansel', Clint."

"I'm 86.4% sure you're fucking with me," Tony declared, "And I'm not succumbing to it this time."

"Alright," Natasha hummed.

A long pause.

"But if you felt like elaborating on Budapest and why Clint would wear heels and also providing pictures, that would be fantastic—"

"Just go change, Tony." Steve laughed.

"Someday, one of those fuckers is going to tell me what happened in Budapest." Tony narrowed his eyes between Clint and Natasha.

"Cross-dressing assassination," Natasha said calmly, and Tony's eyes went wide.

" _Reall—?"  
_

"Are 23 across and 78 down, respectively." Natasha smirked.

"I hate all of you," Tony announced moodily, storming off.

"Except me?" Steve called after him with a grin.

Tony made an exasperated sound. "Obviously!"


	16. Three Sentence Fics Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More three sentence fics I did for a meme on tumblr. Warnings: none.

**High school AU:**

It starts with some goliath of a football player shoving someone Steve doesn't know into a locker, and Steve trying uselessly to step in only to get punched in the face hard enough it knocks him out cold. When Steve wakes up, he's in the nurse's office and the very cute stranger from before is pressing a cold compress to his nose.

"I'm Stebe," Steve blurts, then blushes, embarrassed, and removes the cold compress long enough to say with a little more clarity, "I mean, Steve."

"I'm Tony. Nice to meet you, Stebe," the guy teases.

But then he smiles, and Steve's been a little blown away ever since.

**Prince and his knight AU:**

"You are without a doubt the most idiotic, foolhardy,  _stubborn_  knight I have  _ever_ ," Steve shouts loud enough for the whole castle to hear, hauling Tony past the guards and into his bedchambers by the arm, "I reiterate  _ever_  met in my entire life!"

"Only as reckless as my Prince,  _your highness_ ," Tony snaps back, the title a mockery on his tongue as it always is, until he kicks the door shut with his foot and his whole demeanor drops to tenderness, "C'mere."

They meet in the middle, Steve cupping a hand around the back of Tony's neck and Tony's hands going to his waist to pull him closer, while the guards outside roll their eyes and pretend they don't know a show when they see one.

**Steve pretends to be sick:**

"It's just, I'd love to go to the gala, of course, but I'm—I'm sick," Steve blurts, backing away from the Armani-suit-armed duo, "So,  _so_  sick."

"That would explain the complete lack of symptoms," Natasha says, raising a single eyebrow at him as she continues her steady advance.

"And the immunity to every disease known to mankind," Tony agrees.

"Achoo?"

**Performer AU:**

The first time he sees Tony Stark, he knows it's love.

He immediately feels like one of the international star's many fans, awestruck and delirious and so childish for even thinking Tony would  _notice_  him, but he can't help it; he's a photographer, beautiful things are his business, and there's no word for Tony Stark but beautiful. He's all tousled hair and lithe muscle and confident smirks when he asks if Steve takes pictures with his eyes or if they're going to get this photoshoot underway, and Steve wants to kick himself right up until Tony approaches him later and asks if he's a purely visual guy or if he'd be opposed to another, more _hands-on_  session.

**Mafia AU:**

There are pluses to belonging to a mafia boss—an adventuresome entrepreneur, as Tony likes to call himself—and one of them is that Steve doesn't have to think. Tony says this man lives, this man lives; Tony says that man dies, that man dies. To place that level of confidence in another person's judgment is an enormous risk—he'd never forgive himself if he killed an innocent—but Tony has earned his love, his respect and most importantly his trust more times over than Steve could ever count.

**Online Dating AU:**

"Oh my god, you're hot," is the first thing Tony blurts, then he clamps his mouth shut and his ears go red and he squeezes his eyes shut in the most adorable picture of embarrassment Steve's ever seen, "Shit, I can't believe I said that aloud, can I start over?

"You sound exactly like I imagined you," Steve offers with a smile, because he  _had_  imagined Tony like this, just like he'd been online, ridiculous and a little awkward in the most charming of ways, "And if it makes you feel better, you're every bit as handsome as your pictures, too."

"So that's—this is—yeah," Tony stammers, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, "Yeah? This is a go?"

"Yeah." Steve linked their fingers together, giving a squeeze when Tony gave him a bright smile. "This is a go."

**Tony runs away from MIT to spite his Dad:**

They've been dating for seven months and Steve has never heard one word from Tony on the subject of his father until Tony shows up at his dorm room in the middle of the night a month into their freshman year, bangs on his door until Steve gets out of bed, then all but screams about him for three hours. He threatens to quit MIT and run away to join Steve at art school; that's where Steve draws the line, because Tony  _loves_  technology, lives and breathes it, and his dad may—apparently—be an asshole but even he can't ruin that for Tony and Steve won't let him. So Steve sweet-talks Tony into bed and bundles up with him in every blanket he can find and reminds him of that, reminds him that he's brilliant and innovative and is going to change the world, and he's not going to do it at an art school. Tony says  _I love you, Steve_  for the first time a little after he agrees to go back to MIT on Monday and just before he falls asleep; Steve won't hold it against him if he doesn't remember, but he's also never, ever going to forget.

**Backpackers who share a bunk in a crowded hostel:**

"Crap. How do I say 'wrong bunk, asshole' in Czech?" Tony grumbles, glancing up at the guy napping on the bunk he'd been assigned.

"I wouldn't know, this asshole doesn't speak it," the guy replies, sitting up a bit to glance down at Tony with an amused smile, and  _oh shit he's hot_ , "But I've got the right bunk. They're double-booking tonight."

"We're sharing a bunk?" Tony's not totally sure how his libido feels about that. "That's a tiny fucking bunk."

"More of a cot, really," the guy agrees, "I'm Steve, by the way. Just so you know who you're copping a feel off of tonight."

"You—what—I would  _not_ ," Tony denies vehemently, albeit not very effectively. Steve just laughs, giving Tony a lingering, appreciative look from head to toe.

"I didn't say I'd be complaining, did I?"

**Person A getting person B out of an abusive situation:**

In retrospect, Steve knows that punching Tiberius in the face is not the best way to react. He knows that Tony is not a damsel in distress, that he will probably be yelled at instead of thanked, and that he's still got an incredible amount of work ahead of him disproving all those bullshit lies Tiberius has been feeding Tony about himself for apparently  _months_.

Still, Steve's always had a tendency to see red when Tony gets hurt, and he has to admit that the end result is incredibly satisfying.

**Food critic Tony**

"Mm…" Tony rolls the bite around in his mouth, getting a feel for the texture and taste before finally declaring it, "Adequate."

"Adequate?" Pepper, his note taker, smacks his arm.

"Better than the last," Tony hisses, "I've tasted the true five star standard, Pepper, I can't go back. What more do you want from me?"

"I want you not to cut down every chef in the city that isn't Steve," Pepper hisses back.

"If they weren't so awful, I wouldn't have to cut them down," Tony argues, "Steve can make me orgasm with my tongue, Pepper, my  _tongue_ , how am I supposed to—"

She elbows him viciously; he chokes.

"Um." The young chef in front of them fiddles anxiously with his coat. "So is that…good?"

Pepper plasters on her most charming smile. "We'll get back to you."

**Looking at horoscopes:**

"What're you, a Cancer?" Tony laughs, clicking on the sign, "Let's see what crackpot info they've got on you."

They scroll through the information together, laughing at the inaccuracies, until they get to the final section.

"Who's your  _love_  match?" Tony sing-songs, elbowing him.

"This says I'm best with a…" Steve abruptly stops laughing. "A, uh. Gemini."

There's a moment of awkward silence as they both make a point not to look at each other.

"Lots of those," Steve eventually points out.

"Must be," Tony agrees quickly.

"I'm sure I know plenty."

Steve tries to think of one other than Tony, and finds that he can't. He doesn't mention this out loud.

**Love at first sight:**

It's a single moment, that's all it is.

But that's all life is, really, a series of moments you can grab or let go of, so when Tony finds himself stopped in the middle of the sidewalk watching the handsome blonde stranger he just brushed shoulders with walk away, realizing he absolutely, positively, does not want this man to walk away…well.

It only takes another moment to run after him.


	17. Vampire Steve AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steven is a vampire who's spent centuries being forgotten and left behind by mortals over and over again; Tony is the mortal he loves, who loves him back and refuses to be pushed away. This is another blurb I'll probably make more of and subsequently delete from here. Warnings: none.

Steven's real mistake is befriending a human, but really, he's so far past that point he wonders if it can even count as a mistake anymore. It's certainly nothing he can take back. Tony's a bit addictive, honestly, and Steven's spent so long alone in the quiet of his own mind that when, someday, he loses Tony once and for all, loses his company and his friendship and his eternal warmth, he will likely lose his mind as well. He can't bring himself to care.

The preventable mistake is letting Tony get him drunk.

Not just drunk but utterly trashed, on more cheap booze than he's let touch his tongue in decades. They've been lying on the floor for hours now at least, Tony babbling something in Italian about the benefits of The Bite. He does it far too often for Steven's comfort—try to convince Steven to turn him, not speak Italian, Tony's Italian is lovely—but Steven blames the booze for what he says next. Lord, he hasn't been this drunk in ages.

"But then—" Steven hiccups. "Then you couldn't see."

"You're  _blind?"_  Tony rolls onto his side to boggle at Steven.

"No, no," Steven starts, but Tony doesn't seem to hear him.

"How could I not know that? I know you're a  _vampire_ , but you don't think t'mention that you're  _blind?"_

"I'm not blind, Anthony." He wants to say he chuckles, but it's really more of a giggle. He loves Anthony's full name. He knows the modern man prefers 'Tony', but 'Anthony' slips out every once in a while and Tony doesn't seem to mind when it's Steven saying it. "I mean you couldn't see you."

"I'd be invisible?" Tony rolls onto his back again, clasping both hands to his face. "Tha's not fair. I'm too gorgeous to be invisible."

"Mhm," Steven rumbles, rolling onto his side and nuzzling Tony's neck. He's bitten him a handful of times before, mostly in desperate situations; there's no need now, Steven wouldn't even say he's particularly hungry, but Tony's blood is the sweetest in all the world, he's certain, and just smelling it is immensely pleasing.

"You're smellin' me again," Tony says, but he's scooting closer so it doesn't seem like much of a complaint.

"Cause you smell good." Steven presses his lips to Tony's neck. It's not a bite and it's not quite a kiss, some fond form of affection in between.

"C'mon, do it," Tony murmurs encouragingly, and Steven doesn't get it until he does.

"'m not gonna turn you, Tony." Steven presses a kiss to Tony's neck then, quick and decisive, before turning his head away.

"But you're a vampire," Tony insists, "And you're not invisible."

"Vampires aren't invisible." Steven frowns, confused.

"But y'said if you turned me, I couldn't see me."

"Yeah." Steven sighs morosely. "No more mirrors, or pictures, or, or anything. Ever."

"Oh." Tony gets it, and falls silent for a moment. Then, "So you don't know what you look like?"

"The same, I s'pose." Steven shrugs. The memory of what he looks like is foggy at best. He thinks he's blonde. Grey eyes. No. Green? "Tony?"

"Hm?"

"What color are my eyes?"

"Beautiful." Tony rolls towards him a little more. They're pressed together now, both tilted towards each other, and Steven's so grateful for Tony's heat he aches with it. He's not cold—at least, as far as Tony will tell him—but he's never  _warm_ , either. Not unless Tony's here. Tony gesticulates loosely with his free hand. "They're beautiful color. Like…like oceans. Oceans an' cloudless skies an' really bright sea glass an' blueberries. Maybe not blueberries. Too dark. Your eyes are bright. Bright bright blue. Neptune blue."

"Neptune?"

"'s a planet."

"I know what planets are."

"Your eyes are planets," Tony tells him, drunk enough to be serious as he strokes a thumb up over Steven's jaw, "An' you're my world."

"Don't say that," Steven whispers back.

He's not sure why he whispers, just that he feels he should. He feels a lot of things, like his chest is being cracked open a little wider every time Tony tells him these things, every time Tony asks him to turn him so Steven won't have to be alone anymore, every time Tony offers him his blood without hesitation if Steven so much as looks a little off-balance. Tony just  _cares_  about him, so much and so effortlessly, and Steven would give him everything if it would make him happy. But it wouldn't, so he doesn't, and it breaks his heart a little more each time.

"'m gonna say it," Tony threatens.

"Tony," Steven pleads.

"You're such a fuckin' martyr," Tony growls, but he doesn't say it and he doesn't take his hand from Steven's face. He just lets it drop a little, into the crook of Steven's neck where the simple contact can still warm Steven to the core. "Whine and bitch all you want, 'm not leavin' you. How can I leave? You don't even know what you look like without me, dummy. Who else is gonna tell you 'bout the way your hair is soft and thin and blonde like sunshine? That you've got this real serious face, real manly, with all the high cheekbones and strong jaw and brows that do this, this, confuse-y thing, where they wrinkle together all adorable-like, but that when you laugh all the seriousness goes out the window cause you laugh with your whole face, your eyes go soft and crinkly and you throw your head back and you snort sometimes and then—"

Tony goes on and on, covers Steven's every feature in incredible, if often silly and nonsensical detail, and through it all,  _I love you more than you will ever know_  sits as heavily on Steven's tongue as it always will.


	18. Tech store AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint works at the help desk of StarkTech, the most popular tech store in New York, so he's fairly used to working with dumb people. Toaster Guy, however, takes the cake. Warnings: none.

"Oh shit, it's him." Clint ducks under the counter.

"You are being rude," Thor reprimands him, "What paying customer of our fine establishment are you ignoring this time?"

"Toaster Guy," Clint hisses, and that's all it takes for Thor to dive under the counter with him.

"Hello?" Toaster Guy calls as he approaches the help counter, innocent confusion coloring his voice. Clint would feel bad, but.

_Toaster Guy._

He comes in at least three times a week with some new electronic problem, despite only owning like five electronics, including his fridge and microwave. He's made everyone his unwilling victim at one point or another, even Thor, who's as helpful as they come. As the nickname implies, the guy brought in his flipping  _toaster_  a month or two ago, despite the fact that toasters are not electronics, at least, not the kind they sell. But nothing had been able to dissuade the guy, and he'd insisted on seeing the manager. He  _always_  insists on seeing the manager. He's a nice enough guy, but clearly dense as a brick.

Pepper's technically the manager, but when it comes to fixing things, Tony's their go-to, so they've been directing Toaster Guy to him for months. Not that Toaster Guy ever wants anyone else to help him anyway. Tony technically owns the place—thus, StarkTech—but he's usually hanging around pestering Pepper so it's close enough.

"Why is the help desk emp—oh my fucking god."

That's Tony now, staring at them incredulously, and maybe Clint should be scared about getting caught hiding from a customer by his boss' boss but he's not half as scared of Stark as he is of an hour with Toaster Guy.

"What's wrong?" Toaster Guy asks, and briefly, Clint thinks they're going to be ratted out, the customer will fire a complaint, and Tony will finally have the excuse he's been looking for to fire their asses. To be fair, Clint has not been a stellar employee lately, but also to be fair, the Three Hour Lunch Incident was totally not his fault—

"Nothing, handsome." Tony's voice goes smooth as he ignores the admittedly probably hilarious sight of Clint and Thor squished together under the counter to lean an elbow on it. Clint has no idea what that's supposed to mean. He and Thor exchange a shrug, then sit tight and stay quiet. "What can I help you with?"

"Oh." Toaster Guy's probably blushing. He sounds like the type. And Tony's an asshole, but he can charm strangers like nobody's business; it's probably why the store does so well in the first place. "My telephone is on the fritz again."

"Your telephone, huh?"

Clint can sort of see Tony's face from down here; he's got this weird half smile on his face Clint's never seen before. It occurs to him he usually just passes Toaster Guy off to Tony and runs; he's never actually seen them interact. He didn't know they were so friendly.

"Cell phone." Toaster Guy sounds sort of abashed. "Right."

"Samsung Wave525, right?"

"Uh." Toaster Guy gives a bit of a helpless laugh. "Sure? It's the same one as last time."

"And the time before." Tony chuckles. "And before and before. You're not too careful with your stuff, are you?"

"It's just…electronics," Toaster Guy says in this helpless voice that even Clint can't help finding a little charming. Still. That doesn't make up for the toaster incident. "They're so  _complicated_ , these days. I'm hopeless, I know, I'm sorry for always wasting your time like this—"

"Nah." Tony waves him off. "You're a smart guy, you'll pick it up. And in the meantime, that's what you've got me for."

Tony's still smiling instead of grinning, which is weird, because usually Tony gets pissy when he has to help the customers personally and that is definitely a genuine smile.

"Thor," Clint whispers, "What's up with Tony's face?"

"I believe he is smili—" is as far as Thor gets before Tony delivers a swift kick to Thor's shoulder. Clint would pity him, but Thor never really did learn to whisper.

"What was that?" Toaster Guy sounds confused again.

"Store radio," Tony lies smoothly. Clint officially has no idea what is going on. "My employees are currently misusing it."

"Oh." Toaster Guy pauses. "Are you busy? I can wait, I don't want you to get in trouble—"

"No no, hey, don't worry about it. To be honest with you, fixing things is way more my speed than dealing with rowdy employees." Tony leans over the counter a little more, and Clint is  _so incredibly confused right now_ because there is literally nothing Tony hates more than having to deal with dumb customers. Not to mention, since when does he pass up opportunities to tell people he owns the place? They're like the most popular tech store in New York, he's usually the first to jump on that. "So what's going on with that brick of yours this time, huh?"

"You're sure you've got the time?" Toaster Guy hesitates.

"For you, sweetheart?" Clint glances up and catches Tony doing that dopey-looking smile thing again. "All the time in the world."

"Alright." Instead of being properly creeped out, Toaster Guy sounds  _pleased_. "Well, it's been doing…whatever this is, since this morning."

Toaster Guy must've passed his phone over, because there's silence for a little while. Clint sneaks a peek after a few minutes, and instead of looking at the phone and solving the problem so Clint can squeeze out of here already, Tony and Toaster Guy are gazing at each other lovingly over the busted phone. Clint pokes Tony's ankle, and Tony kicks him viciously without breaking his weird staring thing. Clint hisses, and it breaks the moment.

"Is there a cat under there?" Toaster Guy asks.

"I wish," Tony mutters, "No, the desk just makes noise sometimes. If I give it a good kick it usually learns its lesson."

"You're something else, Tony." Toaster Guy leans on the desk a bit, enough that Clint can catch a glimpse of him and his enormous, ridiculously fond smile.

"Well, uh." Is Tony Stark blushing?

"Thor," Clint whispers, "Thor, Stark's  _blushing_."

"W—" Thor starts, but Clint clamps a hand over his mouth before Thor can get himself kicked again. He points at the back of Tony's neck, which is turning red in the face of Toaster Guy's bright smile. Thor's eyes widen appreciatively at the sight of this mysterious phenomenon.

"Thanks," Tony says at last, "So, uh, yeah. Your phone. Totally busted. I mean, what did you even do to it?"

"Oh, I, uh. Dropped it out a window. Eighth story window. Accidentally."

Tony gapes.  _"How?"_

"Gravity?" Toaster Guy offers with a shrug. He sounds strangely unconcerned, and something's starting to smell fishy here. At least to Clint. Tony clearly doesn't notice at all.

"Well, you're gonna have to get a new one for sure." Tony pokes the old one. "Not even I can do much for this."

"Oh, darn." Toaster Guy still doesn't sound even remotely put out. "Maybe you could walk me through my options?"

"Of course." Tony nods quickly, eagerly. "Might take a little while, though. You got a free hour or so right now?"

"Yeah." Toaster Guy slides something across the counter. "Right now. Or tonight. Or this weekend."

" _Oh my god—_ " The pieces click into place immediately, and Clint bangs his head on the underside of counter when he sits up too fast.

"What on earth?" Toaster Guy startles visibly when Clint pops out, but Clint just points an accusing finger.

"You've been playing dumb to seduce my boss!"

"Um." Toaster Guy pauses, glances at Tony, then back at Clint. "Why were you hiding under the counter?"

"I spent two hours trying to explain a dumb toaster to you and you were just trying to  _seduce_  my  _boss?"_

"You were trying to seduce me?" Tony's turning an interesting shade, the dopey smile making a comeback.

"Did it work?" Toaster Guy shoots him a dopey smile right back.

"Fuck you guys," Clint declares. He swipes the piece of paper with Toaster Guy's number on it— _Steve_  is written on the top, but fuck him, he doesn't get a name—and slaps it into Tony's hands. He informs Steve the Toaster Guy, "Tony's the store owner, not the manager, so he can leave right now and you two can go do your dumb flirting somewhere that's not my work station."

"Why did you give me your number if your phone is broken?" Tony asks, ignoring Clint completely.

"Oh." Steve gives an abashed grin. "That's not my phone, it's my friend Bucky's. He wanted a new phone and I said I'd pay for it if he let me chuck it out a window first so I could take it to you."

"Could I take you to dinner?" Tony blurts, "Or, lunch, I guess? Something? Preferably now? Or is that too—"

"Lunch sounds great." Steve smiles. Tony hops over the counter.

"You know, you don't pay me enough for all the shit he put me through," Clint points at Steve accusingly.

"Sorry." Steve rubs an embarrassed hand over the back of his neck. He doesn't really look all that sorry, though. "I didn't really know how to say 'can I just talk to your hot manager please' without sounding desperate."

"Can I keep you?" Tony loops an arm through Steve's.

"Can I get a raise?" Clint complains.

"Can I come out now?" Thor asks.


	19. Kids at summer camp AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They should've known better than to let Natasha tell them scary stories. Warnings: none.

"Tony?" Steve's voice wavered just the littlest bit. "That was—that was some story Tasha told."

"Yeah," Tony answered, sounding very, very small in the empty, pitch-black night, "Sure was. But it's not, y'know, real or anything."

"Course not."

"Even sounds fake, huh?" Tony scooted his sleeping bag a little closer. "Hack Slinging Slasher? It's dumb."

"I thought it was Hook Hacking Slasher?" Steve scooted closer too.

"Oh yeah." Tony gulped. "The hook."

"Not that it's a real hook," Steve said quickly.

"Duh." Tony nodded immediately. "So not."

"I'm not afraid," Steve told him, glancing at his friend, "But if you were, that'd be okay."

"I'm not scared of anything." Tony jutted out his chin. "But if _you_ were, that'd be okay, too."

"I bet the others are scared." Steve glanced at their other campmates, the various sleeping bags strewn across the campground.

"I bet," Tony agreed, "But not us."

"Since we're the brave ones," Steve reasoned, sitting up in his sleeping bag, "We gotta stay up and protect 'em."

"Yeah." Tony sat up too, wide brown eyes just barely visible in the starlight. "Even if we hafta stay up all night and not close our eyes once."

"And turn on our flashlights to blind the Slash Hooking Hacker," Steve added, clicking his on and flashing it into the woods.

"Not that he's real," Tony said quickly, clicking his on too and doing the same.

"Not that he's real," Steve agreed just as quick, "But they don't know that."

"Right." Tony scooted closer. "We should go back to back, so we look like real watchmans."

"Good idea." Steve turned and sat with his back against Tony's, huddling his knees close to his chest as he flashed the light around. "Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"If the Slash Hooking Slinger _is_ real…" he mumbled, "I'm glad I got you."

"Glad I got you too, Steve," Tony said quietly. Then, after a long pause. "Not that he's real."

"Course not."

They kept watch for all of eleven minutes before they fell asleep, back to back, flashlights forgotten and dropped to the ground. At least, until something rustled in the bushes, at which point both boys woke up clutching each other and screaming at the top of their lungs.


	20. Thor is a troll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They should've known better than to believe a word Thor said. Later, they would blame it on the gullible vulnerability of new parenthood. Warnings: none.

"Last bite, here we go." Steve offers up the last of the banana mush to Peter, who grunts and turns his head until Steve obligingly blows out his lips and makes airplane noises. Peter giggles, and Steve manages to wriggle the spoon into his mouth.

"Such a good boy," Tony praises at Steve's side, taking Peter's bib and unclipping the tray, while Steve scoops him up.

"See, buddy?" Steve encourages, "Wasn't that yummy?"

Peter makes an eager noise in the back of his throat, and Steve's about to take him over to the sink so they can wash his hands when Thor pipes up.

"He says it wasn't quite 'yummy', but that your airplane noises were delightful enough to make up for it," Thor tells them seriously. Silence falls over the kitchen. Thor looks up innocently. "What?"

"You're not being literal, right?" Tony asks after a moment.

"Should I not speak to your son?" Thor frowns.

Steve and Tony exchange a glance.

"You understand him?" Tony clarifies, " _Explicitly_  understand? The same way you understand me, right now, with that kind of precision?"

"I have told you before of the Allspeak—" Thor looks very confused now.

"You didn't mention that it applied to  _human babies_ —" Steve starts in, his voice jumping up incredulously. Peter begins to whimper, and Thor gestures to him.

"He doesn't understand why you're shouting."

"I'm sorry, Petey," Steve soothes quickly, "Papa's sorry, I didn't mean to get loud."

"Yes." Thor nods sagely. "He quite likes that voice."

"You, me, Steve, and Peter." Tony gestures shortly. "Living room. Now."

"He prefers Stormaggedon," Thor informs them as he stands.

Tony gives Thor the blankest look Steve's ever seen from him. "What."

"Stormaggedon," Thor repeats, as if they were particularly slow, "Well, Stormageddon Dark Lord of All, but Stormaggedon for short."

"Right," Tony says weakly, "Short."

"He doesn't like Peter?" Steve asks, disappointed. "But I chose that name."

"He likes it fine, Steven," Thor assures, "And he is young yet, he'll grow into his name."

"He likes me, though, right?" Tony leans over to grasp Peter's little hand and smile at him. Steve can hear the note of worry in his husband's voice. "Do you like Daddy, Pete?"

Peter blows a spit bubble with a giggle. Thor smiles.

"He has nothing but the deepest adoration for you both, Anthony."

They spend an hour asking Thor questions about their son before Jane pops her head in looking for Thor, takes one look at what's going on and the expression on Thor's face, before informing them he is completely and totally messing with them.

Thor laughs so hard he nearly sprains something.


	21. Tony embarrasses Peter (again)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To be fair, Tony genuinely liked the sticker. Embarrassing Pete was only a bonus. Warnings: none.

"Take it off."

Peter's waiting for him at the end of the armor dismantlement runway, though really, Tony hadn't expected anything less. He releases Steve so he can get out of the way, then starts up the dismantlement process.

"The suit's coming off as fast as it goes," Tony tells him innocently, "I know you're just dying to hug your dear old Dad after a long day of superheroing, but you'll have to wait just a little longer."

Steve hides a snicker. Peter is not amused.

"The sticker, Dad." Peter glares at him. "Take it off."

"Sticker?" Tony muses.

" _The_  sticker," Peter repeats with emphasis, "The one on the news."

"Was it really on the news?" Tony's eyebrows jump up.

"Their priorities are getting ridiculous." Steve sighs, and Tony's inclined to agree because seriously? Dinosaurs storm downtown and they're covering his sticker?

"It's not funny." Peter's voice goes a little petulant. "It's mortifying. My friends aren't going to let this go until I'm, like,  _your_  age!"

"What do you mean, 'my' age?" Tony frowns at him. "Was that a jab? That sounded like a jab. Steve, I think our son just made a jab at me. And after I went to all the trouble of showing the whole world how very proud I am of you—"

"What are you so embarrassed of, Peter?" Steve cuts in with his most mature voice, the one Tony has long dubbed the parenting voice. It's all he can do not to laugh, because Steve is so obviously messing with Peter too and the boy doesn't have a clue. "That we love you and are proud of your accomplishments?"

"No, I…" Peter looks sullen. Tony tries to keep a straight face when Peter turns back to him. "No. But did you have to put it on the suit? You  _know_ they cover any changes you make to it."

"Relax, Pete," Tony tells him, "I'll take it off."

"You will?"

"Sure, of course. JARVIS? Apparently I am no longer proud that my son is an honor student at Midtown High, remove the sticker saying so."

"Dad…" Peter makes a face, then throws his hands up. "Ugh.  _Fine_. Do what you want. I'll just get beat up at school tomorrow, and the day after, and the year after, forever and ever, but who cares about that, right?"

"They'll beat you up for receiving parental affection?" Steve raises an eyebrow at Peter in amusement.

"This isn't affection, this is torture," Peter grumbles, stalking off moodily. Tony calls after him.

"So is that a no on the hug?"


	22. Tony is Bucky's younger brother AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is Bucky's younger brother, Steve is Bucky's best friend, and there are a number of very good reasons they should not be doing this. None of these reasons are enough to stop them. Warnings: none.

Bucky stopped dead in the doorway, the sight before him both horrifying and impossible to comprehend.

Well, maybe impossible wasn't totally accurate.

Steve  _had_  been wanting to come over to his house a lot lately. And inviting Bucky's dumb little brother along with them everywhere they went for the sake of making him feel "included", whatever  _that_  meant. And there'd been a lot of weird, Tony-centered questions lately, like what movies he liked, what clubs he was in, what he liked to do in his free time. There'd also been that one time Steve had known Tony had gone home sick from school before Bucky had, when Bucky hadn't even known they were in contact. Not to mention Tony had been a pain in the ass lately, more so than usual, about "when's Steve coming over again" and "when are we gonna hang out with Steve next" and "do you think Steve would like this shirt" and—

How the fuck had he missed this?

"So that's new," Bucky announced loudly. They both jumped about a foot in the air, breaking whatever sloppy, ill-advised saliva swap they'd been attempting.

"Bucky!" Tony shouted, "Get out of my room!"

"If you two  _ever_ ," Bucky continued, "So much as  _breathe_  on each other in my room, I will henceforth be a best-friend-less only child. Am I clear?"

"You are such a fucking douchewad," Tony grumbled, but the splotchy red on the back of his neck told Bucky the brat was properly embarrassed.

" _Am I clear?"_

"We won't do anything in your room, Bucky, I promise," Steve told him, looking contrite.

"Why the hell would we want to do anything in your disgusting pit of a room, anyway?" Tony said, which was as good as Steve's promise in Tony-ese, "Now get out and try knocking next time."

"Believe me, I will." Bucky put his hands up. "Like I need to see whatever soggy hell  _that_  was ever again—"

"Out!" Tony threw a shoe at him, but Bucky closed the door before it could hit him. It thumped against the wood, followed by Tony's call of, "And I kiss perfectly fine, you fucking asshole!"

Bucky laughed, at least until Steve started reassuring Tony what a wonderful kisser he was, at which point he quickly left before the urge to puke got any worse.


	23. Tony is a biker AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jan should really start double-checking her sources. Warnings: none (Steve's eighteen and fully legal).

Steve's halfway down the steps outside of school when a classmate of his, Janet, stops him with an arm in his and the giddy smile that means she's got an inside scoop.

"Ohmigosh, Steve, you have to hear this, it'll just take a minute—"

Steve glances towards the parking lot. His ride's here, and her stories are  _never_  a minute. "I really ought to—"

"Right, you have to go, sure, but have you seen who's in our  _parking lot?_ " Jan giggles, unable to hold it in.

"Who?" Steve casts a look around.

"Who  _else?"_  She points.

Right by the curb, there's a large red motorcycle with gold stylings. Leaning next to it is Tony Stark himself, the helmet tucked under his arm clearly only for show; his hair's a mess from the wind, though it's a hell of a sexy mess. Steve's fingers itch to play with it. He has a confident, devil-may-care look about him, and he smirks roguishly at anyone who side-eyes him.

"You know what they say about  _him_ , don't you?"

"That he used to go here?"

"Of course he went here." Jan clicks her tongue, impatient with him and his inability to keep up with her stream of information. "He was supposed to graduate three years ago, but his senior prank involved explosives so they expelled him. A week before graduation and everything. But  _I_  hear he's a bona fide arsonist now, rap sheet and everything."

"Really?"

"Really really. Whitney told me he's got an arrest record longer than her arm."

"How would she know?"

"She kissed him through the bars of his cell once. Gave him something to get out for."

Steve laughs. "Somehow, I doubt Whitney's ever been anywhere near a prison."

"It was the local holding station," Jan corrects, story shifting like it always does.

"Ah." Steve tries to keep a straight face. "I'm sure she did, then. So she says she's seeing him?"

"No, he's got another piece."

"Piece?" Steve can't help but break into another laugh. "Since when are you a mobster?"

"It's prison slang." Jan raises her chin at him.

"Sure. So he's got a prison boyfriend, then?"

"Yeah. I hear they're in for assault. Or breaking and entering. Maybe both."

"Maybe." Steve chuckles. "Well, I'll see you later, Jan. My ride's not too patient."

"Alright, I'll see you around, Steve." She waves as he takes the steps two at a time. Really, he's the impatient one.

"You just  _had_  to take the bike." Steve grins as he approaches, and Tony beams back at him.

"Thought it'd be a nice touch." Tony hooks a finger in Steve's pants' pocket and uses it to tug him in. "You know you like it."

"I like what it does to your hair," Steve admits that much, getting a hand in Tony's mess of hair and giving a light tug. Pretty much everyone is staring at this point, and it's all Steve can do not to laugh. " _Very_  sexy."

"Gonna this  _very_  sexy biker boy a kiss?" Tony goads, bumping their noses.

"Dunno if I should," Steve says innocently, in his best approximation of Jan's voice, " _I_  hear you've got a rap sheet long as my arm."

"Please, you love bad boys." Tony grins, though they both know rumors of a rap sheet are complete bull.

"Just this one." Steve kisses him then, and admittedly takes more than a little smug amusement in Jan's choked gasp.


	24. Steve and Tony meet in a car accident AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve really needs to learn to listen to his inner mantra better. Warnings: none.

The second Steve's ancient, beat-up Camry touches the back end of some top of the line, futuristic-looking sports car Steve can't even identify, his life flashes before his eyes. He could sell everything he owns and not even be able to afford a monthly payment for a car like that. It's just a fender bender, but still; if this guy wants to take him to court, Steve is  _screwed_. He's just going to have to swallow his pride—and the fact that the other guy was the one who slammed on his brakes, Steve had absolutely been going the speed limit and keeping normal distance—and be on his absolute best manners. Polite. Respectful. Contrite.

Steve repeats this mantra to himself as he pulls over and they get out of their cars. The first thing Steve notices about the other man is that he  _exudes_  rich. He's wearing a tailored suit that probably cost more than Steve's yearly rent, a gorgeous but probably equally ludicrously expensive wristwatch, and a pair of designer sunglasses. Steve kind of hates him, just a little. The man looks him over from head to toe, probably assessing his not-so-nice clothes and his beat-up car and putting the pieces together that Steve's not really worth his time. Steve doesn't kind of hate him.

Steve totally and irrationally hates him.

Polite. Respectful. Contrite.

"I'm sorry." Steve forces out. "You just slammed on your brakes—"

Damn it, he shouldn't have even mentioned—

"Oh." The man pushes his sunglasses down enough to look at Steve eye to eye, and that's not fair, he's not supposed to have eyes like  _that_. "Sorry, do you  _not_  stop for children in the street, or…?"

"I—" Steve stammers, because how is he even supposed to answer that? Also, he might still be a little distracted by those eyes, but that's neither here nor there. "Of course I do. And that's—it's fine, it's my fault, let's just exchange—"

"Here." The man has opened his wallet and is passing over a business card of sorts.

_Tony Stark._

_You know who I am._

Steve grits his teeth again, because this is completely unhelpful and already just so unsurprising—what's the jackass smirking at him for? "Tony" gestures for him to flip it over. The back has his job title, work address, and business phone number. Steve does his best not to look as embarrassed as he feels.

"Thank you," he says perfunctorily, holding out his insurance card. "Here's mine."

Tony glances it over, then hands it back without writing anything down. "Steve, huh?"

"Yes. Don't you need to write any of this down? Not to mention give me your insurance information?" Maybe Tony expects him to do all the legwork. He squashes down his first thought of  _predictable rich jerk_  and reminds himself that as he's technically at fault he should be the one to call it in anyway. Tony's probably still a jerk, though.

"Nah." Tony gives a little wave, pulling out his phone. "Insurance companies are such a fucking hassle. I'm a mechanic first and foremost anyway, I can fix my baby up on my own. I just needed your number."

"Why?" Steve asks, distrustful and more than a little confused. Is Tony going to leave him high and dry with the insurance company? How will that work?

"So I can do this."

Steve's cell phone beeps. Tony waves for him to get it. An unknown number pops up with the text:

_10880 Malibu Point, 90265_

About all he can manage is a surprised, "What?"

"The card's got my business information. That's my home address. Bring your car by sometime, I'll fix it up for free." Tony looks him over again and Steve's about to bristle, when he adds, "You could even stay for dinner, if you wanted."

It's smooth and casual and Steve almost doesn't understand the offer for what it is, but with the sunglasses pushed down he can catch the appreciative note of Tony's stare that he'd assumed was condescension before. Tony's checking him out. It's probably what he was doing before, too, and Steve suddenly feels like world's biggest asshole. He wants to apologize, but Tony doesn't seem put off, just amused, so he figures he can apologize later.

Over dinner, maybe.


	25. Fem Steve kicks gender roles in the nads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> High school, fem Steve. Steph defies most attempts at stereotyping. Some people are uncomfortable with that. Tony, however, thinks Steph is the greatest thing to happen to the world ever and is not quiet in his immediate and resounding defense of his girlfriend. Warnings: none.

"Tony." Steph's voice hit the pitch that meant Tony had both exasperated and endeared himself to her. It wasn't a new pitch. So she'd already heard, then. "Again?"

"He started it," Tony grumbled, leaning in for a hello kiss before continuing, "He was bragging about how Sue was in some dumb contest—"

"Homecoming, Tony." Steph's mouth gave an amused little twitch as she shut her locker and fell into step beside him. "She's a Homecoming nominee."

"Oh, that thing." Tony waved a hand dismissively.

As if they hadn't spent all of last night scouring shops downtown to find Tony a tie the exact shade of blue as Steph's dress. As if Tony hadn't spent three anxiety-ridden weeks prior to that sitting on two Homecoming tickets and trying to figure out the perfect way to ask her, because hey, being in a relationship didn't mean he could get complacent about holding on to the best damn thing he'd ever have. As if she hadn't both ruined and perfected his plans like she always did by scoring the winning touchdown in the game that put them up against Triskelion High for Homecoming, ran up to the stands and leaned over the fence enough to kiss him, then beamed at him with that brilliant, beautiful smile of hers and demanded,  _you gonna take me to the dance for this thing or what?_

"All I did," Tony continued smoothly, "Was point out that nobody cares who wears some crown at some dance, because everyone is going to be busy caring about the football game that  _you're_ sure to win for us—"

"Triskelion has a tough team, Tony, stop saying we're sure to win, you're going to jinx it—"

"So I maturely and respectfully corrected his horrific error in judgment," Tony steamrolled right over whatever nonsense Steph was saying that wasn't 'I'm the greatest football player that ever lived', "And informed him of the simple, factual truth."

"Did you now." Steph raised an eyebrow at him. It wasn't a question.

"Of course." Tony held his chin high.

"Shouting 'my girlfriend is too better than yours, go suck a dick, Reed' at the top of your lungs in the middle of the hallway is not mature, respectful, or the 'simple factual truth'," Steph told him, but there was a familiar quirk of fondness to her lips that told Tony he'd already been forgiven.

"Pretty sure it is though." Tony grinned.

"Pretty sure all you've done is landed yourself detention.  _Again."_

"Worth it."

They'd already come to a stop outside of the classroom where detention would be held with time to spare, so he took her by the waist and moved in a little closer so he could kiss her up against the lockers. She went willingly, even tilted her head a little to deepen it. For all that she claimed exasperation with his antics, he knew she appreciated the thought behind them. It was true, anyway, no matter what she or Reed or anyone else said: Tony had the best girlfriend in the entire world, hands down and with no exceptions. It was a plain and simple fact, and the sooner people started acknowledging that Tony had won the love life lottery, the sooner he would stop getting detention for announcing it to the world. Or as Steph usually referred to it, shoving it down people's throats.

Hey, whatever it took to get the message across.

He was just so goddamned proud of her. He couldn't help it. Who else could do what she had done, what she still did every day? She'd been under ninety pounds when they'd met back in freshman year, skinny as a twig—no less beautiful for it, of course not, but not exactly a linebacker—and she'd decided, come junior year, that she wanted to play football. Tony had only ever asked her the once if she was truly sure; the idea of a bunch of roid-raging assholes charging at her on a weekly basis terrified the hell out of him, but she'd wanted it badly and there wasn't a damn thing in the world Steph couldn't achieve if she wanted it so he'd supported her every step of the way since. His support had helped, he knew, but he also knew that no matter how much she liked to stroke his ego by saying she couldn't have done it without him, nothing in the world could have stopped her once she'd set her mind to it. She'd been the one to stand tall and clench her jaw, to insist that she could do this if given half the chance, when every sexist prick in the damn school had crawled out of the woodwork to take one look at her and relay some variation of the 'stick to your art stuff, sweetie' speech. One asshole had even made the mistake of outright laughing at her; Tony had gotten a black eye in his scuffle with Hodges over that particular insult to Steph's dignity, but Steph had gotten Hodges back even better by being the one to strip him of his team captain title within a year.

She'd worked so incredibly hard for this. She'd trained all summer, worked herself to the bone not just to get into "good enough" shape but to become stronger, faster and all around fucking  _better_  than any of those pea-brained Neanderthals she had to compete with. She could take out their second-best player in a flat second now, how was Tony supposed to be anything short of utterly, blisteringly proud of her? He hadn't screamed it from any rooftops yet, that was about as far as he could be reasonably expected to restrain himself.

"If I didn't know better I'd think you were just trying to get out of watching this afternoon's practice." Steph broke the kiss briefly to smile at him, knowing full well that wasn't the case.

Tony had jokingly offered on more than one occasion to become her personal cheerleader, but they both knew anything involving that level of physical coordination wasn't really his speed. He was more enthusiastic than any cheerleader though, always snagging the closest seat to the field he could find at every practice and game, shouting encouragement and jumping around and generally hollering endlessly about how great she was.

"I'll be there as soon as detention gets out, promise." Tony leaned in for another kiss, quick but certainly not chaste. "I mean, unless you want to come flash the teacher so I can climb out the window early…"

"We're not re-enacting 10 Things I Hate About You." Steph rolled her eyes fondly.

"Good, because no one's allowed to see your breasts but me anyway." Tony waggled his eyebrows as suggestively as possible, hoping to elicit a blush. He didn't get a full one, but her ears went a pretty shade of pink. She wasn't a prude and certainly had no reservations when they were alone, but in public he could still rile her up a little sometimes. "What? Everyone knows I get to see your breasts. I mean, jeez, three years of pining over you, I'd sure hope so or that's just sad—"

"Would you stop being so crude about it?" Steph gave him smile far too affectionate to be reprimanding. "Someone's going to overhear you and you'll get another week for sexual harassment, or whatever else they can make up."

"I swear, Coulson isn't satisfied unless I spend half the week in detention."

"That would be Mr. Coulson to you, Mr. Stark," Coulson informed him as he rounded the corner. Tony jumped. Steph valiantly, albeit barely, held in a laugh. "And I will be satisfied when you can go one week without shouting about genitalia in the middle of a school hallway."

"You say that like it happens  _often—"_  Tony started. Both Coulson and Steph shot him dry looks. "Only twice." Another look. "A couple of times, okay, fine, but to be fair it's not my fault Reed has a personality that implies cocksucking."

Steph immediately groaned.

"On that fine note." Coulson held open the door to the detention room. "I believe today we'll be going for an hour, Mr. Stark."

"I was only assigned a half hour!" Tony protested, aghast, "I'll miss almost all of Steph's practice!"

"Contrary to your personal opinion, it's not in my job description to enable your teenage infatuations. One hour, Mr. Stark, unless you've more to say on the matter of genitalia?"

The temptation was so high it bordered on painful. Steph's nails digging into his wrist in warning was just about the only thing that stopped him from blurting out the first dick joke that sprung to mind. Ha. Sprung. Steph's nails dug a little tighter and Tony sighed in concession.

"No, sir," he grumbled, turning Steph in his arms to steal one last kiss. "Love you. I'll catch the tail end of it, I promise."

"Love you too. See you soon." She raised a hand to caress a thumb over his cheek briefly before letting it drop, hoisting her bag higher on her shoulder and heading off down the hall, presumably towards the locker room. Tony wanted nothing more than to flip Coulson off and run after her.

God, he was so in love.

"You're welcome to stand out here and gawk," Mr. Coulson drawled, "But be aware that your hour only begins once you're in fact  _in_  the classroom."

Tony quickly ducked inside, glancing up at the clock.

Fifty-nine minutes and fifty-nine seconds left to go.


	26. Dating your best friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is not as opposed to these conversations as he likes to pretend, and hearing Tony laugh loud enough to wake up Clint at three in the morning might be his favorite sound in the world. Warnings: none.

Dating your best friend was pretty great. One of the best decisions Steve had ever made, honestly. It meant they already knew each other inside and out, trusted each other instinctively, and that communication came as naturally as it ever would for either of them.

It also meant that sleeping in the same bed could occasionally result in 3am conversations reminiscent of a high school sleepover.

"If I cloned myself and got a handjob from said clone, would that be considered incest, homosexuality, or masturbation?" Tony pondered aloud.

"No," Steve, half-awake at best, grunted into his pillow.

"Hypothetically."

"Hypothetically it's a bad idea." Steve rolled onto his back to toss a glance Tony's way. Tony was on his back as well, staring up at the ceiling with a particularly thoughtful look, brows furrowed together in concentration.

"Incest, maybe?" Tony continued, "That's defined as sexual relations between people too closely related to get married, and a clone would be a perfect genetic match so that's probably too close."

"Probably." Steve snorted. It was probably best if he didn't ask why Tony knew the definition of incest off the top of his head.

"The Maximoff twins," Tony supplied anyway, knowing him too well, "They've got that…thing. Sure, they're fraternal twins instead of identical, but. That's still weird, right?"

"Weird," Steve agreed with a drowsy yawn.

"I guess it depends," Tony decided, presumably back to his original dilemma, "Could I marry a clone?"

"No." Steve kicked his ankle.

" _Hypothetically,"_ Tony insisted again, tucking his toes under Steve's ankle in a half-assed, sleepy attempt at footsie.

"Hypothetically no," Steve said anyway, thoughts drifting to the small black box tucked under the pillows on his old bed.

He'd considered the classic underwear drawer hiding spot, but Tony stole his underwear too often for that to be an option. His old bed had sheets with a thread count low enough to make Tony hiss and recoil though, so it was safe there. He didn't say anything about this aloud, but Tony dropped his head to the side and smiled at Steve fondly anyway.

"Fine. I won't marry the clone. So. Probably incest. I'd say definitely homosexuality, but does it count as homosexuality if it's also masturbation? Straight people masturbate too and that's not—" Tony kept talking, but Steve's thoughts drifted.

He'd thought about two Tonys before. It was a pretty nice thought, actually. Running around in the workshop double the Tony would be a headache and potential press disaster, but in bed…Tony was already more than Steve could've dreamed in a partner. Just imagining two of him was enough to make Steve's brain threaten to ooze out his ears. He'd gotten quite a bit of mileage on that particular fantasy, between business trips and missions abroad, though he'd never bothered to label it anything in particular other than "effective".

"—and even if it is, what do you call that? Masturcest? Inbation?" Tony was still talking, but he fell silent then as he puzzled that one over. The silence lasted about half a minute or so before Steve spoke up.

"I call it spank bank material," he offered.

Tony's laugh was startlingly loud in the quiet room. Steve couldn't help a grin in return. Tony was laughing so hard he had to roll over and stifle his face with a pillow, but not before JARVIS announced to them,

"Agent Barton kindly requests silence."

"Play back his request." Steve snorted while Tony continued snickering into his pillow.

" _Fucking hell—JARVIS, remind our resident teenage girls that other people live here too. Goddamn assholes,"_ Clint's voice grouched over the speaker,  _"And tell Stark if he ever clones himself I'm moving out."_

Tony just laughed harder.


	27. The many meanings of boners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve thinks he knows what the word 'boner' means. He doesn't. Warnings: none.

He hadn't meant to say what he had.

Tony put his life on the line more often than anyone, more than he even had to, and Steve knew that. He knew it better than anyone. He'd pulled Tony out of the wreckage more times than he cared to remember, kept vigil by too many hospital beds, had to revive Tony too many times with shoulder shakes and Hulk bellows and one perhaps slightly over-enthusiastic deliverance of CPR. Tony was a damned hero, through and through, not to mention one of the best ones Steve knew.

But he was reckless, too, and that made Steve more anxious than he liked to admit. Tony was always walking the line between self-sacrifice and near-suicide. Watching him plummet and get tossed around and take clearly avoidable blows made Steve's head hurt nearly as much as his heart, because if Tony could ever simply  _listen,_ most of it could be avoided. Some were unavoidable, that was just the life they lived, but plenty weren't.

It had been like that, yesterday. If Tony had stuck to formation, everything would've been fine. He hadn't though, of course he hadn't, and the second Steve had taken his eyes off him Tony had been halfway across Midtown in pursuit of the supervillain of the week. Long story short, he'd taken the guy out but had no backup against a retaliation from an unexpected henchman, one they would've flushed out earlier if Tony had  _stuck with the damn plan._ Instead, he'd gotten hit with an EMP of sorts and gone down over the Hudson river, staying underwater for the longest three minutes and twenty-seven seconds of Steve's life. It'd been like watching Bucky fall all over again, Tony an unreachable streak of smoke and metal in the sky, plummeting faster than Steve could ever hope to catch up with. He'd booked it to the river as fast as he could, dove in without a second thought, but the water had been murky and dark even with enhanced eyesight. If Tony's suit hadn't rebooted and propelled itself out of the water, Steve knew he never would've found him in time.

That was what gnawed at him the most, he supposed. He was mad at himself for not being there in time, for still managing to be useless when it counted in spite of everything, but he'd taken it out on Tony. A shouting match between them about procedure and following the plan almost always followed any Avengers mission and was hardly unusual, but something about this near-loss in particular had worked him up more than usual, had him genuinely angry at Tony for the first time in a long time. Too angry to remember his sense, it seemed. He hadn't said anything horribly damaging, but the argument had still been his fault and he knew he ought to be the one to apologize first.

Steve rubbed a hand over his face as he headed down to breakfast, trying to put on his most contrite expression. Tony wouldn't be there when he entered unless he had an early meeting, but he could get a headstart on some apology food. Apologies always went over better with food.

"You and Stark had another fight, huh?" Clint entered just as Steve finished the bacon, a grin splitting his face. "Awesome."

"Clint." Steve shot him an exasperated look.

"What, like you're not gonna make up? In the meantime…" He leaned over Steve's shoulder, snatching up a handful of bacon.

"With your hands?" Steve made a face. "Really?"

"Naffkins fwere infented for a reaffon," Clint informed him through a mouthful of food. Steve just rolled his eyes.

"Another fight?" Sam noted as he entered. Steve made a noise of frustration.

"Am I that transparent?"

"Yeah." Sam snorted. "Hell if I care though, man. You know I'm all about the free bacon."

"You're aware everything here is free, right?" Bruce was next to join, shooting an amused glance Sam's way.

"Have I mentioned yet how much I love living off your sugar daddy?" Sam grinned at Steve.

"Shut up," Steve grumbled, but it was a joke made far too often for him to bother drawing up any real indignation.

"Who's got a sugar daddy?" Tony appeared in the doorway, blinking blearily at the group.

He was still in last night's clothes, indicating he'd spent the night in the shop after all; Steve added an extra shot of espresso to his coffee and another cube of sugar before taking it over to him.

"No one. And I'm sorry, Tony," he admitted up front, passing over the mug. Tony accepted and clutched it gratefully in both hands. "I really made a boner this time."

Sam dropped his plate.

"Uh." Tony cleared his throat. "I can't say I haven't had a few for you, but is the breakfast table really the place to go announcing it?"

Clint choked on his toast.

"What?" Steve glanced over at them.

Clint started choking harder. Sam made no move to pick up his mess, just stared at them both incredulously. Thor slapped Clint on the back hard enough that the piece of soggy bread shot across the room.

"Captain America and Iron Man get boners about each other and discuss it at breakfast," Sam said flatly, "Not even J. Jonah Jameson would buy the shit that really goes on this place."

"'Get' boners?" Steve squinted at him.

Natasha appeared behind him, silent as usual despite his enhanced senses. "Fun fact, in the forties 'boner' meant a mistake."

A cacophony of groans and nods of understanding rose up from the table. Steve was still confused, particularly by the way Tony's neck had suddenly gone red.

"What does it mean today?"

"I can't speak for everyone, but personally I assumed you were talking about the unhealthy amount of erections you two have whenever the other breathes," Bruce commented idly, not looking up from his newspaper, "But maybe that was just me."

"Oh. Uh." Steve blinked at Bruce, then turned to Tony. "And you said…?"

"That a kitchen full of nosey friends is not the place for it." Tony eyed him inscrutably for a moment. Then he turned out the door, calling behind him, "Which is why I'll be in the shop."

There was a long pause before Steve managed, "Was that an invitation, or am I imagining—?"

" _Go,"_ the room chorused, Clint chucking his toast at Steve's head and Natasha jabbing him in the back with her fork until he moved.

He wasn't running, exactly, but he sure wasn't walking when he caught up to Tony halfway down the hall. He opened his mouth to call Tony's name and make him stop, but Tony was already turning at the sound of his feet and maybe Steve could've stopped walking, could've paused in front of Tony and asked about an answer and given Tony an out, but then Tony had a hand fisted in his shirt and rational thought went out the window as Steve bent down a little to kiss him right there in the hallway.

Steve wondered if Tony would buy that he needed a hands-on explanation of what a blowjob meant these days.


	28. Coffeeshop AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Titled: Rhodey Is The Best Wingman Ever. Alternatively: He Secretly Talked To Bucky During ROTC And Found Out Steve's Been Pining For a Billion Years Too. Warnings: none.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhodey's sign is based off of this post on tumblr: http://brolininthetardis.tumblr.com/post/51732496539/this-is-a-coffeeshop-au-screaming-to-be-brought

To be clear, the whole thing was Rhodey's fault.

Yes, okay, technically decorating the board they kept in the front window of Shield Coffee was Tony's job, but he'd been busy that morning trying to convince Bruce, his fellow grad student, favorite chemistry major, and occasional drug dealer, that Dr. Sitwell was in fact secretly a neo-Nazi bent on societal corruption. Bruce seemed to think it had more to do with the fact that Sitwell had marked Tony down on his last test, which was  _blatantly untrue,_ but the point was that Tony had been busy and kindly asked Rhodey to do it for him.

This was how the bastard repaid him.

Admittedly, it'd taken him a while to figure it out. He'd been confused by the uptick of people giving him their numbers, sure; between the blocky glasses and unfortunate lacking in the height department, he was used to people either assuming he was a high schooler and ignoring him, or laying on the charm so he would do their homework. But that was fine. Sure, he hadn't had a date in a month or two—or three months and half a week, shut up Rhodey—but he was fine. He was great. He had Rhodey and Pepper and Bruce, and even Dummy when the bastard wasn't spitting coffee grinds at him, so whatever.

He wasn't  _desperately_ single.

He also may or may not have spent the past three months pining after the hot blonde art student who spent his afternoons doodling in the corner by the window, but that was between him and his dumb heart, okay? And alright, maybe between Rhodey and Pepper, since they wouldn't shut up about it every time Hot Art Guy came in. Which was pretty much every day now, something that was both awesome and terrifying. Not that Tony did the whole nervous shtick, because he totally didn't. He was smooth. He was charm personified.

Except, apparently, when it counted, because every time he tried to ask Hot Art Guy his name, he either couldn't get the words out or got too _many_ words out, babbling at the guy about the stupidest shit possible for five minutes while he made him his coffee. To make matters worse, Hot Art Guy was so  _nice_ about it, always taking pity on him by the end with a kind smile and a, 'thanks for the coffee, Tony', before taking his drink and heading over to his window. After which, of course, Rhodey and Pepper would needle him about it mercilessly until Nick came out to grouch at them about how this was a respectable coffee establishment and not a high school cafeteria.

Point was, Tony's life was not one that involved a bunch of admittedly super attractive dudes passing him their number over the counter. Had he gotten some new kind of cologne lately? He didn't remember buying anything new. Actually, come to think of it, he didn't use cologne. Was it because he'd showered yesterday? He didn't get around to it very often, he knew, between classes and work and the obscene amounts of lab time he was putting in lately to finish his project in time for grant reviews, but he didn't think he'd smelled  _that_ bad lately that one shower would make a difference, he should shower more often—

"Yeah, man, you definitely should." Rhodey wrinkled his nose.

"Was I talking out loud, or were you reading my mind again?" Tony frowned. "We talked about the mind-reading thing, it's creepy, don't do that."

"Like there's anything in your head I don't already know." Rhodey snorted, putting up the two drinks he'd just finished off. "Phil! Melinda!"

"I'm just saying, this is my third number in the past hour. Did I do something different to my hair maybe?" Tony mused.

"Your hair looks like it always does," Rhodey told him as he maneuvered around him to grab another jug of milk for the steamer, "A fucking mess."

"Thanks a lot, asshole—"

"Language!" Nick shouted at them from his office. Hypocritical bastard.

"Whatever," Tony muttered, turning back to his customer, "Double caramel frappuccino extra whip?"

"You know it." Clint handed over a five, looking entirely too pleased with himself for Tony's liking. "So how goes the hunt?"

"What hunt?" Tony raised an eyebrow at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Rhodey making a throat-slitting motion at Clint. "What?"

"I was telling Clint, I, uh." Rhodey pushed him to the side. "That I'm going to make his order, today, because I'm the barista who made the wonderful sign outside."

"You want to make his girl drink, you can make his girl drink." Tony shrugged, backing up to let Rhodey take over the order. "He always bitches that I don't give him enough caramel anyway."

"Just because you don't understand my body's need for sugar doesn't mean it's not real." Clint scowled at him.

"You want sugar, buy a candy bar." Tony snorted at him, leaning against the counter. "So what did you mean, hunt?"

Clint glanced over at Rhodey, who shook his head quickly. "Nothing."

"Rhodey." Tony narrowed his eyes at him while Clint darted away to safety.

"I don't know what he's talking about." Rhodey shrugged his shoulders innocently, drizzling an obscene amount of caramel into Clint's cup. "You're the one always saying that guy's crazy."

"He  _is_ crazy, I caught him talking to a bird once—but that's not the point, don't distract me from the point—"

"Did you have a point?" Rhodey gave him a doubtful look. "You don't usually have a point."

"I have a point, jerk, and my point is that you're acting all suspicious and I—"

"Oh, look, it's your boyfriend." Rhodey diverted. Tony glanced towards the door as covertly as possible, to find that Hot Art Guy had in fact just entered. He had a friend in tow, the redheaded one who only drank triple shot espressos. Tony was never sure if he should be impressed or terrified of her.

"Go be annoying somewhere else," he hissed to Rhodey.

"Tell him you recommend the special," Rhodey insisted, finishing up Clint's drink and sticking it on the ready counter before disappearing into the back.

"I  _recommend_  that you—" Tony paused halfway through what surely would've been a creative and vicious threat when he caught Hot Art Guy's eye. "Uh. Hi. Coffee?"

"Hi." Hot Art Guy smiled, seemingly unperturbed by Tony's complete inability to speak like a normal person. "Yeah. Could I please have a—"

"Hazelnut cappuccino extra shot, right? Not that I memorized—I mean, you order the same thing every day, so." Tony cleared his throat, sufficiently mortified. "Uh. Yeah. Is that what you want?"

"Sounds great, Tony." Hot Art Guy smiled again, saying his name like he always did, like they were just the greatest of pals and coming here was some kind of bright spot in his day. Tony might've wanted to melt a little. Hot Art Guy turned to Scary Redhead. "And one of whatever she wants."

"Oh." Fuck his life. "Right, because she's your girlfriend, of course you have a girlfriend, why wouldn't you, you're smoking—nice, really nice, so you have a terrifying girlfriend who is—laughing. Why is she laughing? I don't think I've ever seen her laugh before, oh my god, I broke your girlfriend I'm so sorry—"

"Oh, no, she's not my—I lost a bet so I owe her a coffee, I don't have one. A girlfriend, that is, not a coffee. I don't have a boyfriend either, for the record, which is more what I'm—I mean, I like both but at the moment I'm interested in, that is to say I like, uh." Hot Art Guy was the one babbling for once. Tony felt like he'd stepped into an alternate dimension. Finally, Hot Art Guy blurted, "I like today's special."

Scary Redhead started laughing harder.

Tony wasn't totally sure how the conversation had jumped from love lives back to coffee. "The raspberry latte?"

"The…?" Hot Art Guy's expression dipped into confused disappointment. "No. I meant, uh…"

"The sign." Scary Redhead prompted to Tony, like that was supposed to make any sense.

"Right," Tony said slowly, "The raspberry latte."

"That's not what your sign says." Scary Redhead chuckled.

"It's not?" Tony frowned, turning to call over his shoulder, "Rhodey, you shithead, what's our special?"

"Language!" Nick called back before Rhodey could.

"Prick," Tony muttered under his breath.

"Heard that!"

"Fine, whatever, you want the special. What's the special?" Tony sighed. Hot Art Guy looked entirely too nervous for ordering a coffee. "I'm not going to judge your coffee taste, promise."

"No, it's not, uh." Hot Art Guy cleared his throat. "You're the special. I mean—that's what's on the board, anyway."

"But you said you liked the special."

"Right."

An awkward pause stretched out as Tony tried to process what that meant.

"Say yes already and get your ass back to work!" Nick shouted down the hall.

"Um." Tony blinked once, then twice, trying and failing to get his brain to reboot. "To be clear, you're asking—"

"You on a date, yeah," Hot Art Guy finished, quickly adding, "Or just for your number. We could, you know. Text first. Or hang out. I didn't mean to pressure you, or anything, that sign is very misleading—"

"Yes," Tony blurted finally, brain kicking into gear, "Yes. Everything. All of it. Uh. Yeah. Yes."

"Yes?" The hopeful smile returned to Hot Art Guy's face almost immediately. It was strangely gratifying to think that Tony had put it there.

"Definitely yes." Tony couldn't help smiling back. "Though I should probably point out that you've never actually told me your name."

"Steve." Hot Art Guy—Steve—reached across the counter to shake his hand. Anyone else and it would've been totally awkward, but his hand felt nice and warm and Tony was too busy maybe falling in love to mind all that much. "Steve Rogers."


	29. Steve pulls a sass-and-jump on Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has a habit of sassing people and jumping out of airplanes. He forgets that some of his new teammates can and will follow him for the sake of the last word. Warnings: none.

Thing was, it irked him a little that he had to work with Tony Stark.

Tony was kind of a pain, honestly, and he could really do this particular assignment on his own. But after SHIELD came crashing down and Congress started calling for his head, he—they, really, the Avengers, which was apparently a full-fledged Thing now—needed Tony. Tony had the money to get them off the ground, the headquarters to station themselves at, and the lawyers to keep Congress and the CIA and the FBI and whoever else knocked on their door at bay. Maybe that was what nagged at Steve the most; needing someone. It'd never sat right with him.

Still.

They were cruising over the Pacific in one of Tony's fancy new quinjets, Natasha and Clint co-piloting while he and Tony prepped for drop in the back. They'd run the mission details and were just waiting for the green light that meant they'd hit the drop zone. This should've meant that they had a moment of quiet. Instead, Tony  _would not shut up._ It was a strange phenomenon Steve had noticed, actually; the quieter the people around him were, the more Tony talked. He was never content to just let a conversation lie, or have a moment of comfortable silence. He had. To keep. Talking.

"—and I guess it's really not so bad, at least, Pepper says that I—"

Steve was about to claw his ears off when the green light dinged on overhead, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God.

"Here we are," Steve announced, standing and heading for the escape hatch.

"Wait, where's your parachute?" Tony frowned at him as he palmed his helmet.

"I don't do parachutes." Steve pressed the button, opened the hatch.

"You don't…" Tony stopped halfway through putting his helmet on. "I'm sorry, what?"

Steve shrugged. "Parachutes aren't really my thing."

"Parachutes aren't your…" Tony blinked once, then twice. "You do know that you're actually mortal, right? I mean, I've looked at your medical records and the serum's a wonder and all, but you are actually capable of dying—"

"Tried it once." Steve shrugged. "Didn't stick."

Then he dropped right out the back hatch.

There was always something satisfying about that. Not that he couldn't hold his own in a verbal sparring match, but he kind of liked the finality of shutting people up with a well-timed drop out of a plane. Gave him almost as good a rush as jumping out of the plane itself. Not to mention, his minutes in the air would give him some peace and—

"Okay, so, first of all, you didn't actually  _die._ " Tony's metallic-tinged voice came out of nowhere; Steve would've stumbled if he'd been on solid ground. "You can't keep using that one. Your heart rate just dropped to levels mostly seen in comatose people for reasons I don't think anyone's totally clear on."

"You're supposed to be headed to checkpoint, Iron Man, why are you tailing me?"

"Second," Tony continued without pause, "Parachutes aren't your 'thing'? Really? Look, the whole sarcastic-Captain-America thing is starting to grow on me—the whole team thing isn't really half bad, if you must know—so you dying is no longer really my 'thing'."

"Touching." Steve resisted a smile. "You know we're over water, right? I know how to swim."

"Of course I do." Tony made a sort of echo-y sound that might've been a snort of laughter. "Third! Pulling the sass-and-drop only works if the person you're sassing can't follow you out of the plane, and isn't just as obsessed as you apparently are with getting the last word."

"I'm learning that." Steve couldn't help a bit of a chuckle. "You gonna follow me into the water here, or what?"

"Relax, my thrusters are faster than some diving elderly man." Tony hip-checked him, throwing him off-balance. "Bet I'll beat you there."

"I'd like to see you try, shellhead." Steve shook his head with a grin, regaining stability and pressing his arms and legs to his side to fall faster. Tony hit the jets in the other direction, calling over his shoulder,

"You're on, winghead!"

Funny, Tony wasn't half bad when Steve actually listened. He ought to try it more often.


	30. AngelDemon AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preview of an up-coming fic. Stephanus has a...complex history with one of Hell's more talented demons. Warnings: none.

"You can't possibly be serious."

"We came to an agreement." Phil sighed.

"With  _them?"_ Steve spat incredulously, "They can't be trusted!"

"They keep their blood deals." Phil pressed a hand to his forehead. "They're bound to. We don't have much choice here, Stephanus."

Great, the full name. Steve scowled. "There's always a choice. They'll betray us,  _Philippos_ , you know that they will. They're trickier than djinn and have less morals than goblins, you think they won't find a way to weasel out of whatever it is they've promised?"

"I recall a certain  _incident_  from a few thousand years ago." Phil pursed his lips. He held out a hand, and a file appeared in it. He opened it on his desk and pushed it towards Steve pointedly. Steve winced. He should've known better than to pull out Phil's full name, no matter that he'd done it first. "You didn't seem quite so opposed to demons then."

"I was tricked." Steve looked away. "I did my penance."

"Yes," Phil mused, eyeing the file, "You look very 'tricked'."

"Put the past where it belongs." Steve reached across to slap the file closed. He caught only a glimpse of dark hair, but it was enough to stir up an all too familiar pang of longing.

"I wouldn't be so certain it's past."

Steve froze. "No."

"We have no say in who Hell choses to send, but he's always been one of their best. There's a high chance—"

"You have a say in who we send—" Steve tried.

"You're the best for the job." Phil shook his head.

"I refuse." Steve shook his head as well, taking a quick few steps back. "I'll do another hundred years penance before I work with him."

Phil leveled him with a firm, unyielding look. "This is important enough to management that we're teaming an angel and a demon, and you think you have the right to refuse?"

"Send Samandriel," Steve pleaded, "He's nearly as good a shot and an even better flyer—"

"Know your place." Phil was unmoved. "Accept your duty as Heaven has commanded it unto you."

Steve grit his teeth, but inclined his head in a jerky motion. "I accept."

Though Steve didn't always love taking orders—his long history with penance spoke well enough to that—at least Heaven had structure. Angels had responsibilities, had purpose; both leaders and soldiers worked seamlessly and tirelessly to answer the prayers of the deserving, safeguard innocent souls, and fight Heaven's battles. Hell, being less of an organization and more of an institution, was more apt to let their factions run free. Demons had superiors and occasionally received missions, but they far more often roamed the Earth freely, with little purpose and even less accountability. The two sides clashed most often at the scene of death: though there were certain souls too pure for demons to corrupt or too rotted for angels to heal, most souls were up for grabs.

The first time he met Antonius, he'd been very, very young. Antonius had been the first demon he'd ever met, though Steve had of course learned of them as all new angels did. He'd heard tales of their pale, ashen skin, their long, angular ears, the horns that changed colors to match their disposition. He'd heard about how quick they could be with their talons, how unexpectedly strong their thin, pointed tails could be. He'd heard all the stories of how devious they could be and the lengths they would go to get what they wanted, but he'd still been entirely unprepared for the natural, easy charm of his first.

Steve had been on the hunt for a wendigo when they'd met, as the devout brother of one of its victims had prayed for justice and Steve had been sent to deliver. He'd run into Antonius while tracking the beast and assumed him to be mortal—Steve had still been fresh-faced from death, hadn't even learned to read auras yet—so he'd tried to get him out of the danger zone. Antonius had quickly picked up on Steve's mistake and played along to humor himself, insisting he could help. Steve should've told him to go home, but his weakness for Antonius was less a developed taste and more of a lightning strike; one look into Antonius' eyes and something had ignited in him he still hadn't managed to put out. He'd given in then, like he would give in time and time again over the next several thousand years, and let Antonius come along.

Steve had spent two days trying to protect what he thought was a helpless albeit captivating mortal, until they found the wendigo and the helpless mortal shifted into a ferocious demon and slaughtered the wendigo with minimal assistance from a very stunned Steve. He had, unfortunately, been too busy being stunned to realize what Antonius was after until the demon had already made off with the souls of the wendigo's victims. Steve had brought the live ones back to their families, but upon his return to Heaven he'd received harsh reprimand from his supervisors about not only losing the souls to a demon but assisting him, however accidentally.

It was the first but certainly not the last time Antonius earned him penance.

"There's no one else?" Steve couldn't help but ask one last time.

"This will be good for you." Phil's tone was dangerously close to sympathy, something Steve neither wanted nor enjoyed. "You're bound to run into him again eventually now that you're re-entering active duty. Wasn't there an old saying in your garrison, about—"

"Yes, I recall," Steve snapped, admittedly still a bit touchy about it.

Steve had run into Antonius so often over the centuries that the running gag in his garrison had been that the best way to draw him to a job was to assign Steve to it.

It'd been funny, until it'd nearly lost Steve his wings.


	31. Sleep rumpled is a good look on Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The times Tony is less than perfect might very well be the times Steve loves him most. Warnings: none.

Tony had a lot of great looks.

Sure, of course Steve was biased, but people seemed pretty inclined to agree with him. Tony was always getting looks when they went out, and just last month Wired magazine had featured Tony in his workshop gear on the cover; according to Pepper, they'd had an upswing in female purchase soon after. Contrary to popular belief, Steve didn't really mind the thought of other people liking Tony's appearance, since there wasn't a doubt in his mind that Tony would never go stepping out on him. Still, it was nice to have certain looks to himself, and sleep-rumpled would always be a favorite.

He woke up before Tony most days—alright, all days, Tony was many things but an early riser had never been one of them—and it was nice to see Tony so relaxed. In sleep, he wasn't concerned with how he looked or acted at all. He'd splay out all his limbs, hog the blankets, drool on the pillows—and Steve, sometimes—and generally attempt to smother Steve in his sleep by lying on him any which way Tony felt like. When they went to sleep each night, Tony's hair was in place, his teeth were brushed, and his face was clean and clear; when they woke up, Tony's hair was disastrous, his stubble had grown in, and he was so groggy pre-coffee that he seemed disoriented by everything that wasn't Steve or a bed. He was adorable, and Steve loved it.

This particular morning, Tony was on his stomach with his face turned away from Steve, buried into his pillow, so Steve scooted closer and started pressing kisses along the back of his neck.

"Time's it?" Tony mumbled, words muffled by his pillow.

"Early," Steve hummed back.

"Why," Tony grunted flatly.

"Meetings," Steve answered simply, knowing anything more complex would go in one ear and out the other right now.

"Nah," Tony decided, rolling over and getting a hand around Steve's neck to pull him into a kiss.

"You." Steve kissed his nose. "Have the worst morning breath of anyone I've ever known."

"Sure? Maybe you should check again." Tony opened his mouth wide and breathed in Steve's face. Steve wrinkled his nose, turning his head away with a laugh.

"Sexy."

Tony wiggled closer, dropping his arm from around Steve's neck to pat his abs with a cheeky grin. "Someone has to be the eye candy in this relationship. You're clearly not stepping up to the plate."

"Guess I should go for a run, then." Steve grinned at him, rolling over and making like he was going to leave. "Unless you've got any other ideas about how to burn a few calories?"

Tony had both arms around him and was yanking him back into bed before Steve's feet even touched the floor.


	32. Spiders are gross and Steve is a troll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve does not enjoy being screamed for. Tony does not enjoy bugs. As his husband, Steve is more than happy to fulfill his Bug-Squishing Duties, but he's not above a little payback. Warnings: none, unless you are very deeply phobic of bugs.

Thing was, Steve had really good reflexes.

Part of it was the serum, part of it was training, and part of it was that his friends and family were constantly in danger and that tended to give a person a rather high baseline level of anxiety. So when his husband screamed Steve's name at the top of his lungs—when they weren't having sex, that was—his reflexes tended to react pretty instantaneously by flooding his system with adrenaline and panic and yeah, Steve wasn't embarrassed in the slightest to admit that he quite literally dropped everything and sprinted faster than he had in a long time up the stairs and down the hall. Tony was supposed to be showering right now, to the best of Steve's knowledge, so he dashed into the bathroom to find Tony crouched on the sink.

"What happened, are you okay?" Steve moved to his side immediately. Tony was wet and naked, clearly just out of the still-running shower, but Steve was too busy looking for injuries to properly appreciate that.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Tony shot him a weird look when Steve tipped his chin back, examining his face and neck and chest— "Honey, I said I'm fine, what're you looking me over for?"

"You sounded like the Skrulls were invading, what do you think I'm looking you over for?" Steve demanded. Tony did seem to be okay though, so Steve moved back just a margin.

"JARVIS is offline for a little while for a system reboot, I told you this morning."

"You didn't tell me it meant you'd be  _screaming_ for me at random intervals!"

"I didn't scream, can we stop saying scream—"

"You screamed. I dropped my breakfast, I'm pretty sure I broke the plate—"

"Does that mean you left food on the floor? Because I guarantee you that means your fat behemoth of a dog has already vacuumed it up and is going to—"

"He's not  _fat,_ Tony, he's perfectly healthy for his breed—"

"Well, when that 'perfectly healthy' beast pukes up your breakfast later, I'm sure as hell not going to be the one to clean it up."

"I only even dropped the plate because I thought  _you_  were in danger!"

"What, so that means I should clean up  _your_ dog's puke?"

"He's  _our_ dog, you agreed to—"

"I agreed to let it live here, I didn't agree to co-own the thing—"

"Yes, you did, and JARVIS can play it back for you later when he's back online—"

"Doesn't count, argument's now, if he can't play it back now your point is officially invalid—"

"That's the most childish thing I've ever—" Steve rubbed his forehead. "You know what, forget it, it doesn't matter. If Dodger makes a mess, I'll clean it up. But if you're fine, then what did you call me up here for?"

"Maybe I don't need you after all." Tony stuck his chin up a little, pride kicking in, but Steve knew the look on his face.

"Where's the spider?" Steve glanced back at the still-running shower. "Shower, right?"

"It's not a spider, it's a cockroach, and it's the size of my fucking fist," Tony grumbled.

Steve shut off the water and poked his head into the shower to look around. The bug wasn't really all that big, maybe the size of his pinkie toe—Steve had seen ones the size of his foot back in the forties, they'd essentially been residents at his apartment—but he gagged for Tony's benefit. "That thing's enormous."

"Right?" Tony agreed from the sink. "It crawled up out of the drain! The  _drain,_ Steve, it's like living in a goddamn horror movie."

"That's disgusting," Steve offered in his most dismayed voice, hiding his amused smile by looking the other way. Tony's shower was big enough that they could have sex against the wall of it and not even get wet, but yes, their life was truly the set of a horror movie.

"I'm going to call pest control if I see another one of those things," Tony announced.

"Good idea," Steve hummed, catching and squishing the bug with his thumb.

" _Steve!"_ Tony immediately protested, "Not with your  _hands!_ You touch me with those!"

"Sorry." Steve laughed, going to the sink to wash his hands. Tony hopped off and backed away. Steve couldn't help a smirk. "It's not going to magically return to life and leap off my hands at you."

"I don't know if you've noticed, but we live in a very strange, very fucked up world. I trust nothing."

"Not even me?" Steve raised an eyebrow, foregoing the hand-washing to raise the thumb that still had bug guts on it and wave it in Tony's direction.

"I swear to god if you don't wash your hands in the next minute I'm divorcing you."

"No, you're not." Steve grinned a little gleefully, moving closer. Tony backed away.

"Honey…" Tony started pleadingly.

"Now I'm 'honey'?" Steve edged closer. Tony tried to back up further, but bumped into the tub. "You won't even co-own a dog with me."

"Okay, okay, it's our dog, I said it, it's our dog, I love that dumb mangy mutt to death now  _get away from me—"_

"That's not very nice." Steve inched forward. Tony climbed up onto the tub ledge. "I think you owe me an apology kiss."

"If you touch me—" Tony warned.

"You'll scream again?" Steve grinned.

"I shouted," Tony corrected.

"Gonna shout again?" Steve leaned closer, puckered up teasingly with his hands outstretched. Tony yelped and startled backwards, his arms pinwheeling as he teetered over the edge of the tub. Steve dove forward and snagged him by the waist, scooping him up with his free, clean hand.

"Goddamn it, Steve, you couldn't just let me fall?" Tony whined, wiggling to get free, "I'd rather sprain my arm than have bug guts all over my back—"

"This hand's clean, relax." Steve laughed, stealing a kiss before letting him down on the floor.

"Good, because—"

"This one isn't though." Steve wiped his dirty thumb on Tony's cheek then bolted quick as he could out of the bathroom.

" _Steve!"_


	33. Steve & Tony troll Clint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint's constant attempts to scare the shit out of Tony eventually backfire on him. Badly. Warnings: Steve and Tony jokingly abuse certain kinks for the sake of teasing Clint. It's not quite kink-shaming, but if you're sensitive to it maybe skip this one.

"Oh God, oh God,  _Tony,"_ Steve moaned breathlessly, collapsing against Tony's chest. Which was…surprising, since they'd only just fallen into bed. Hell, they'd barely gotten their shirts off. Steve was certainly oversensitive and Tony liked to think he knew how to get the most out of it, but he'd barely touched Steve yet. Before he could ask, Steve was whispering into his ear, "Clint's trying to scare you again, I can hear him breathing under the bed. Wanna have some fun?"

Tony was pretty sure that was the exact moment his love for Steve reached new heights.

"Yes," Tony moaned loudly back for dramatic effect, "God, yes, Steve, oh, baby—"

Steve's eyes lit at the word  _baby._ Tony knew exactly where his train of thought was going and resisted a very un-sexy groan.

"That's it, Daddy, right there." Steve, the bastard, looked like he was trying not to snicker. Tony just made a face at him and retaliated with,

"Yeah, you like it when Daddy touches your  _tits_ , don't you?" He tweaked a nipple, then had to put a hand over his own mouth to stop from laughing at the dirty glare Steve shot him. He hated when Tony called them tits. Tony kept going, trying not to laugh with every word, "How did wearing that lingerie feel under the suit today, baby? Did you feel like Daddy's pretty little girl?"

"Oh, yes," Steve told him, voice breathless and pitched higher, "Such a pretty girl."

"Daddy's pretty girl," Tony cooed like he would to a child. Steve almost let out a laugh, but managed to turn it into a moan. "Look at what that lacy little bra does to your tits. Gonna let me press my cock between those beautiful breasts of yours, baby girl?"

Steve had to roll off him he was shaking so hard from silent, restrained laughter. He mouthed  _bra?_ at Tony, who just shrugged with an unabashed grin and climbed on top of Steve, making an effort to jostle the bed for effect as he did.

"Of course I will," Steve encouraged, pitching his voice higher again, "There you go, squeeze that  _weeping_  cock of yours between my tits and aim right for my wet, waiting mouth, Daddy, I'll swallow it all, I love to swallow your hot, salty come…"

Steve was actually great at dirty talk; Tony knew the ridiculous turn was purely for Clint's benefit, but it still left him doubled over with the effort not to laugh. He bit his lip to keep any sound in, until Steve smacked his thigh lightly to bring him back and gave Tony an even better idea.

"Oh, princess, hit me harder," Tony moaned as wantonly as he could manage. Steve bit down on Tony's shoulder to keep from laughing, but gave him another light cuff on the thigh. "Oh, baby, that's it, that's  _it,_ yeah, punish your daddy…"

"Mixing your kinks a little there," Steve whispered with a grin.

"Good, we'll confuse him." Tony grinned back, then slapped his hands together harder than he knew Steve would be willing to hit him. " _Ohh,_ baby, just what Daddy needed."

"Yeah?" Steve all but purred, rolling them over with as much excess bed-shaking as he could manage.

He sat up, still straddled across Tony's waist, and took hold the bedframe. He eyed Tony's hands, then met Tony's eyes and raised his eyebrows. It took Tony a second, but he got the idea and slapped his hands together. Steve gave the bedframe a shake as soon as he did, and Tony made the loudest, most shameless moan he could. They kept it going for a minute or two, Tony making the slaps louder and louder, Steve giving the bed enough of a shake Tony half expected it to crack. Soon enough though Tony gave a whimper apparently too ridiculous and Steve lost it, rolling off of Tony to grab a pillow and quickly muffle his laughter. The sound was still audible, but Tony was a quick thinker.

He loudly announced, "Oh, princess, you're crying so early tonight."

Steve pulled himself together, barely, just enough to remove his face from the pillow and fake a sniffle. "I can't—can't help it, you just take  _such_ good care of me, Daddy. Pleasure makes me so  _emotional…"_

"It's okay baby girl, come here." Tony grinned. "I'll lick your tears."

Steve made a face, but Tony quickly darted in and licked his cheek with a loud slurping noise. Steve wrinkled his nose and mouthed  _you're disgusting_ at him, wiping his cheek off before faking a girlish whimper.

"Nope, fuck, I can't do this," Clint declared. He rolled out from under their bed, stalking out of the room and only tossing them the briefest of glances. "This never fucking happened and we are  _never_ discu _—_ wait."

Clint turned back, stared at them incredulously.

"Your pants are still on."

"Sure are, princess." Tony winked.

Steve laughed so hard he nearly fell off the bed. Clint's mouth just dropped open, demanding, "You  _knew?"_

"He could hear you breathing." Tony grabbed Steve by the waist when he nearly rolled off the bed again. "Consider this payback."

"This was  _way_ more traumatic than anything I've pulled!"

"You're gonna give me a heart attack with all this jumping-out-at-me shit—"

"I thought my fearless leaders had a daddy-crossdressing-painplay kink and that I was going to have to  _listen,_ that is  _so_ much worse!"

"You thought—you thought I walked around wearing  _bras—"_ Steve interrupted, trying for a full sentence and failing, falling back into helpless laughter.

"What, you don't think your tits would look great in a bra?" Tony teased him.

"Don't think I'm not gonna get you back for the tits thing," Steve warned, but considering he was still half-laughing, he wasn't particularly intimidating.

"What, gonna spank me?" Tony batted his eyes for effect. Clint gagged and spun around, stalking back out of the room.

"I fucking hate you guys."


	34. Three Sentence Fics Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More three sentence fics from the tumblr meme. Warnings: none.

**Someone claims their child is Tony's from before the Avengers:**

The first words out of Tony's mouth are, "I want a DNA test", which, while entirely understandable and definitely something Steve would ask for too, still makes the face of the thirteen year old boy hiding behind his mother's skirt crumple in disappointment. Though Steve isn't exactly thrilled at the prospect of it either, the boy does look remarkably like Tony and Steve has never liked seeing Tony disappointed. He invites them inside to talk about it—Bruce could take the boy's blood, do the DNA test here in half an hour—and ignores Tony's pointed, disbelieving looks because if it's true, they all might as well get off on the best foot they can.

**Boarding school AU:**

The thing is, Steve Roger's uniform is always perfectly in place, he participates in class voluntarily, and he's popular in that wholesome, who-could-possibly-dislike-him kind of way. So naturally Tony hates him on principle, at least until he finds Steve getting the shit beaten out of him behind the gym one day while the scared-looking freshman Steve was clearly defending scampered off. Steve's a big enough guy but it's still three to one, at least until Tony joins in; they manage to hold their own for twenty minutes until the teachers bust it up and haul them all down to the principal's office. They introduce themselves in the nurse's office later, while Tony hold an ice pack to his nose and Steve gets half a box of band-aids plastered to his face and arms, and have been inseparable ever since.

**Doctor Who AU:**

"—not that you have to, or anything, because I know you have a life here, friends and family and people you like more and I don't know why I'm even still talking because the point is that you can of course stay here in your time, if you want, I can't—and wouldn't, obviously— _make_  you come with me, but I thought we had fun and I highly suggest continuing the fun because space, and time, did I mention time, I'm pretty sure I mentioned time but did I mention I have a sonic screwdriver, because that's cool, definite conversation piece, and, um, yeah." Tony stuttered to a stop, finally, and god he was blushing more than he had in centuries. "So, travel with me?"

"You had me at 'my police box takes me through all of time and space, wanna have the best first date of your existence?'," Steve said, his odd expression finally cracking into a wide, beaming smile, one he'd clearly been trying to hold in.

"That…was the first thing I said. Like, when we first met. Before the whole Autons-ruining-our-first-date thing."

"I know. I like watching you ramble." Steve smiled wider, taking Tony's hand and tugging him back towards the TARDIS.

**Turned into baby animals:**

Despite the fact that Tony had bitten Steve's tail for attention four times in the past ten minutes, Steve still tackled Phil's hand when he tried to remove Tony from the box, nipping and pawing and batting him away until Phil let Tony be.

"You know he's just going to keep chasing you unless I separate him," Phil told Steve, despite knowing full well that thanks to Loki's magic none of the puppy Avengers could understand a word he was saying.

Steve just made a harrumphing sort of noise and bounded back over to Tony, bumping noses with him and wagging his tail excitedly.

**Firefighter AU:**

The first time Tony sets his workshop on fire, it's a complete and total accident. The second time, not so much. The fifth time he burns himself a little— _barely_ , okay, and it was on his hand, where he already has like four hundred other work related scars anyway—but Steve bodily picks him up, throws him over his shoulder, and rants at him the entire way out about stupid, socially incompetent geniuses and how fires are not dates and even if they were he would much prefer Italian.

**Pining Steve:**

"They do get the irony, right?" Sam whisper-sighs to Natasha halfway through the movie, "Two of the handsomest, most available men in New York, convincing themselves that the only person who's actually  _in_  their ridiculously out of this world league,  _isn't?"_

"They'll figure it out," Natasha whispers back, unconcerned, as she takes another handful of popcorn and watches Steve inch ever closer to Tony on the couch.

Steve's got that hopelessly lovestruck look going on, the one he wears anytime Tony's in the room and often when he's not, and he's clearly trying to find a way to get his arm over Tony's shoulder without being too obvious; Tony's hand keeps doing this little inch-hop thing, where he shuffles a bit and tries to nonchalantly get his hand closer to Steve's. At some point, Steve's arm is going to get around Tony and Tony's hand is going to take Steve's, and the resulting double whammy realization is going to be far more entertaining to watch than whatever shoot-em-up movie Clint has picked this time.

**Wizard of Oz:**

"Nice suit, tinhead."

"Says the man in an American flag gingham dress."

"Thor," Clint announces, angrily picking straw out of his clothes, "Fair warning, I may actually kill your brother this time."

**High school AU:**

Steve was wholesome Mr. Popular, the guy everyone liked and wanted to be friends with; Tony breezed through his classes and kept to himself to avoid getting beaten to shit for running his mouth. They rarely so much as passed each other in the halls, much less interacted. Tony didn't know Steve so much as knew his name, until one day Steve appeared in front of Tony's locker and stammered out the most adorable request for a date Tony had ever heard.

**Vampire slayer AU:**

"What if all vampires aren't bad?" Steve reasoned, "You can't just persecute an entire group of people based on old myth and stereotype, it's racism."

"It's not—not  _racism_ ," Tony sputtered, even though the logical part of his brain was reminding him that well, yeah, technically what Howard was training him to do was pretty much the textbook definition of racism. But it was also the only time his old man had ever paid him more than half a second's attention, so he just shook his head and insisted, "It's—they're just—they're  _vampires_ , Steve, they kill people."

Steve watched him for a long moment, before swallowing hard and opening his mouth a little, enough for Tony to see his canines grow and extend, sharpen to fangs. "Not all of them."

**Tony starts giving Bucky rides to make Steve jealous:**

"You know he's only doing it to mess with you, right?"

"I know that," Steve says, but the pouty scowl doesn't leave his face as he watches Tony and Bucky loop through the sky, shooting past Sam and Steve and into the fight, "It's fine, we all got to the scene, that's what matters."

"Sure, Cap," Sam just chuckles, dropping Steve into the fray.

**Sam/Steve, actor and falcon handler AU:**

"Are you sure?" Steve insisted, "Maybe just once more, I feel like if we do another take I could—"

"Steve," Phil interrupted, raising an amused eyebrow at him, "You nailed the scene, we're finished here. If you want to continue flirting with the falcon handler you're going to have to ask him out like anyone else."

**Tony gawking instead of fighting:**

How does Steve's body even _bend_ that way?

Tony's seen him do it before but it's usually from a distance, either up in the sky or watching recaps later on, never up close and personal like this. He should probably join in, help Steve or something, but honestly the guy seems to have a pretty good handle on it all. On the upside, Tony has a really good visual of Steve's ass in spandex as he does two back flips in a row before roundhouse kicking the last guy in the face; on the downside, the whole metal suit thing makes having an erection extremely uncomfortable.

**Tony is the winter soldier AU:**

Losing Tony was worse than deciding to drive down the plane, worse than waking from it seventy years later, worse than learning his entire world had changed, because Steve already knew his world would never be the same from the moment Tony slipped from his grasp. Seeing him again is nothing Steve could've ever thought possible, not even in their insane, alien-inhabiting, magic-wild world, but there's no mistaking the man in front of him. Steve knows Tony better than he knows himself, knows the man he grew up beside, fell in love with, fought for; even when he had nothing he had the Barnes boys, and there's nothing he wouldn't do then or now to get them back.

**Dragon Steve AU:**

"I thought dragons liked pretty little  _princesses_ ," Prince Anthony drawls, lounging over Steve's tail like it's a couch.

"Well, you are little," Steve pretends to think on it, ignoring the prince's offended squawk of indignation, "And certainly very pretty."

"Well," Anthony huffs, "If you want my gold you're going to have to do a lot better than that."

**Ballet Dancer Steve AU:**

Generally speaking, Tony abhors these events. They put him to sleep even faster than art shows, sitting in a stiff chair for a couple hours while people in leotards and tutus prance around, but then he sees  _him_  and the entire experience changes. That show, and every show he's ever been to, becomes entirely worth it just to see the way the center dancer moves; he's a force of nature, breath-taking and awe-inspiring, everything Tony never quite grasped before about the beauty of art.

**Steve spying on Tony's date with Johnny Storm:**

To be fair, he hadn't  _meant_ to spy on Tony's date with Johnny, it had just sort of…happened. Natasha had been the one to drag him out of the house and Sam was the one to bring binoculars, Steve had just been hauled along for the ride. The fact that he was now elbowing Sam out of the way every time he tried to steal them back was unimportant.

**Steve never crashes and is involved in Tony's life (platonically) AU:**

Tony spent pretty much all of his childhood hating Captain America's guts. Steve did nothing but bring him toys and try to play with him and offer an ear to listen, but Tony didn't want anything to do with the person who got all his father's respect and admiration, and more importantly, attention. After the accident, however, Steve was the closest thing to family Tony had left in the world; they fought at first, which was mostly—alright, entirely—Tony's fault, but Steve stuck by him, they helped each other through it, and by the end of it all they'd never been closer.

**Time machine AU:**

"Look, I'm not saying we won't  _also_  go punch Hitler in the face," Tony reasons with Rhodey, "Because we're totally gonna do that. I'm just saying we should meet Captain America  _first_."

**Clint/Natasha gangster AU:**

Women weren't often taken seriously in the underworld, but those who made that mistake with Natasha Romanoff became the example others learned by, even if they didn't live long enough to learn it themselves. Clint was fascinated with her from the moment they met, defected from his gang and joined up with hers immediately, offering his unwavering loyalty and unmatched marksmanship. It was years before he ever got to speak to her directly, years more before he was allowed into her inner circle; she was worth every minute.

**Tony being stunned when Steve flirts back:**

Tony only even does it to be a little shit; he hadn't really considered being interested in Steve before, because they're still supposed to be working on the whole friends thing. Except Steve flirts back,  _hard_ , sexual innuendo and all, and by the time Tony's brain clicks into gear again Steve's left the room with a triumphant smirk. So now Tony's  _definitely_  considering it and the more he considers it the more he wants it, the more he wonders how totally desperate it would be to chase Steve down and throw more ridiculous one-liners at him just see how he'll react, if he'll smirk again and look Tony up and down with dark eyes or maybe move in close and lick his lips and…and, he officially has a problem.


	35. High school english partners AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony are both stupendously oblivious. Warnings: none.

Tony had been in love with Steve for four years, since the sixth grade science fair when he'd designed a robot and it'd blown up by accident. All his cool friends had laughed at him, but Steve—tiny, shy, fly-under-everyone's-radar Steve—had come up to him and told him that Tony's robot was the absolute neatest thing he'd ever seen and asked if Tony would show it to him again someday when he got it to work. Tony had worked harder than he had in all his life to fix it, make it better and better and better, always making excuses about why he couldn't show it to Steve yet—it wasn't  _perfect_  yet, just one more tweak—when really he just didn't have the nerve. Weeks passed, then months, then years; Tony never found the "right moment", or, if he was more honest with himself than he liked to be, the courage.

Then stupid Mr. Coulson made them partners for an English assignment.

Tony was used to being Mr. Cool, by that point. He was pretty popular, with the AP crowd for being smart and the party crowd for being rich and impulsive, and was more than comfortable talking to people he liked. Still, he felt his palms start to sweat and his neck start to go red and he found himself unable to get out of his seat. Mr. Coulson kept rattling off partners and eventually Steve gathered his things to come sit with Tony, since Tony wasn't moving to sit with him. Great, now he looked like a stubborn jerk or something.

"Hi." Steve cleared his throat. Tony managed to drag his gaze up from his paper, make eye contact for a second before looking away. It was like looking at the sun, impossible to hold for too long. "I'm Steve. Your partner?"

"Yeah," Tony managed.

"Uh. Yeah." Steve put his stuff down, took the seat next Tony tentatively. "Sorry, I guess."

"For what?" Tony frowned, because what did Steve have to be sorry for? Tony was the one acting like a socially incompetent moron.

"I dunno." Steve rubbed the back of his neck. "That you didn't get one of your friends? You seem disappointed."

"No!" Tony blurted a little too loudly. Heads turned, and he lowered his voice, "I mean, no, I'm not, uh, disappointed. By you. At you. This is gr—fine, you're fine, I don't, um, mind. Do you mind?"

Steve smiled a little. "No."

They didn't say anything more for a minute, Steve just smiled that little smile and Tony tried very, very hard not to do something stupid, like kiss him. In the end, he tried so hard not to do anything stupid that he would up saying something stupid instead.

"I fixed the robot," he blurted.

Steve's smile faltered a little. "I figured."

"You, uh. What?"

"You got a scholarship last year." Steve's ears went a little red. "Not that I—the whole school heard, I just. Yeah. You got an MIT scholarship, I figured you probably fixed the robot."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Steve's smile looked a little…sad, almost, and that wasn't okay at all.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Steve answered too quickly.

"Something's wrong, your smile's not doing the sunshine thing," Tony said, then immediately regretted it. Steve blinked twice, then laughed.

"The what?"

"Your face is just really bright," Tony muttered.

"When I smile?"

 _All the time_ , Tony thought. "Sure."

"I guess…" Steve shrugged, smile unfortunately dimming again. "I guess I just thought you were gonna show me, that's all."

Tony would've banged his head against the table if that wouldn't have only scared Steve off worse. Instead, he lied for the millionth time, "It's not perfect yet."

Steve's brows furrowed a little. "It was good enough for MIT. I'm sure it's great, Tony."

"Yeah, but not…"  _Not good enough for you._ "It just needs a couple more fixes. The AI is practically primitive, it can only do dumb stuff like make smoothies and beep at me if it thinks I'm not eating enough, or—you're staring, why are you staring?"

"You have a robot that can make you smoothies," Steve said flatly.

"Sort of?"

"And 'think' enough to tell when you're not eating?"

"Well, it's just like he's monitoring my 'battery' really, it's not all that special—"

"What exactly are you waiting for it to accomplish, world peace?"

"You're impressed?" Tony couldn't help brightening. Steve wouldn't be impressed if he saw the real thing, it was just a dumb little mechanical arm and the smoothies were mostly motor oil, but still.

"I was impressed by what you could do in sixth grade, what makes you think I wouldn't be impressed now?" Steve's knee was jumping, almost like he was nervous or something. "Is it, um, fine around other people?"

"It plays favorites, I guess. But it's fine." Tony shrugged, not really understanding the question.

"Then do you think I could maybe…" Steve's ears were going red again, and he was fiddling with his pencil now.

"What?"

"Could I see it?" Steve blurted out in a rush.

Tony's brain blanked for a minute.

"What?"

"If you don't want to show that's fine," Steve backtracked, though his disappointment was clear as anything on his face. "Sorry, I just—you said you would, but that was a long time ago obviously and I—it was dumb, forget it, we should probably focus on the assignme—"

"Wanna come over after school and hang out in my basement?" Oh, god. Tony resisted the urge to put his face in his hands and scream. Why was this so hard? He'd been on like fifty dates, he'd made out with  _seniors_ , okay, he was way too cool to be this awkward and way too smart to be this dumb. "My workshop is in my basement, I'm not trying to like, seduce you or anything, I just have the robots down there and that's not a metaphor for anything I have literal robots please say something so I can stop talking—"

"I'd like to see your literal robots, Tony," Steve answered kindly, finally putting him out of his misery. "Though I wouldn't be opposed to you seducing me in your basement, either."

Tony's brain froze again. He got the feeling it was going to be a recurring problem.


	36. Tony takes Steve-dates very seriously

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony doesn't like all these people and their cavalier attitudes about dating his best friend. Steve deserves the five-star treatment. He deserves special plans and thoughtful gifts and creative gestures; none of this "bowling" shit. Warnings: none.

" _What?"_ Tony hissed to Clint the second Steve was out of earshot, "I did not just hear him right. What kind of loser thinks taking him  _bowling_  is a good first date? Do they have no creativity whatsoever? No imagination? This is Steve Rogers we're talking about, they could at least put a little goddamn effort into it, or—"

"Breathe, dude."

"These people are going out with a national treasure and they take him bowling? Mini-golfing? To  _coffee?"_

"What's wrong with coffee?" Clint rolled his eyes. "You like coffee, he likes coffee, everyone likes coffee."

"And everyone  _does_  the coffee thing. This is  _Steve Rogers,_  okay? You can't just take him out for coffee, that's the weakest, most half-assed attempt at a wooing I can't even begin to—"

"What, Captain America's too good for coffee?"

"Screw Captain America." Tony snorted. "Steve shouldn't be wasting his time on that uncreative bullshit."

"And how should he waste his time?"

 _With me,_ Tony thought selfishly. "On a real fucking date."

"And what's a 'real fucking date', exactly?"

"I don't know," Tony lied, like he hadn't thought it out a hundred times, a hundred different ways, "With someone who knows him. Someone who would put effort into making it  _the_  date instead of a date. Everyone's done coffee and movies and dinner, but he's not that big on coffee or fancy meals and he likes sci-fi and political thrillers more than your usual 'first date' type movie anyway, so those aren't even good options. He's Irish and a billion years old, he likes simple food and good company. If any of these people knew him at all, one of them would've done a picnic under the stars like a hundred dates ago."

"Picnic under the stars, huh?" Clint chuckled, "Sounds romantic, I'll give you that."

"He appreciates what people do for him; cooking a meal for the picnic shows effort, bringing him out under the stars shows thought since he loves astronomy, particularly if they bring him to a real star-watching spot instead of some hill in Central Park just because it's the first place they thought of. I mean, come on, this isn't even  _hard,"_  Tony complained, "I could come up with hundreds of these, I'd take him on the best date of his life."

"I'd like that," Steve drawled from behind him.

Tony froze. Clint snickered and grinned like the shit he was. Tony narrowed his eyes at Clint, not daring yet to look behind him. "He never left the room, did he?"

"Not far enough to miss your monologue," Clint confirmed, standing up and hopping over the back of the couch, "And on that note, I'm out."

Clint disappeared down the hall. Tony decidedly didn't make eye contact with Steve, even as Steve came around and dropped onto the couch beside him. "So."

"So," Tony repeated slowly, "Thought you had a date to get to."

"I did." Steve tapped something out on his phone, sending off a message. "And now I don't. As it turns out I've got another one, one I've been waiting for a lot longer."

That couldn't possibly mean what Tony thought it meant. "Yeah?"

Steve was smiling now as he tucked his phone away and leaned a little closer. "Yeah, Tony. You want to maybe look at me?"

"Not particularly."

"It's polite to look at someone while asking them on a date."

"Is that what's happening here?"

"That." Steve moved closer, until his nose was just a few inches from bumping Tony's cheek. "Is definitely what's happening here. Or I could just ask you. As you pointed out, I'm not very picky about the details of this whole dating thing."

"Most people wait until after a proper date to move in for a kiss," Tony pointed out, because apparently he was a masochist.

"I think we've been waiting long enough."


	37. 3 times Sarah Rogers catches her son eating his feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah's son has never liked confiding in her when it comes to romance, because like most boys his age the idea of talking to his mother about such things is horrifying, but she's always had a way of knowing. Mostly because the fridge gets emptied. Warnings: none.

The first time it happened he was twelve, his first real crush was moving to London, and Sarah found him sitting on the floor of the kitchen halfway through his third pint of ice cream. She bundled him up in blankets, plopped him on the couch, and called up Winnie Barnes to bring James over for some video games and a boy's night.

The ups and downs of high school turned Steve's stress eating into an official habit, though if she had to pinpoint a moment it was particularly bad, she'd look to the week Steve spent building up the courage to ask out Sharon Carter. Not that he told her himself what was going on, that would be Sam who spilled the beans, but she was already very aware that he was anxious about  _something_  by the fact that he never quite seemed to stop eating. Every time she turned around he was munching on something new, no matter how many times she told him to knock it off before he ruined his appetite.

The third notable time would be much later. He had a key and a room in her home, always would, but he didn't usually stop by without calling first. As a result, she thought for certain it was an intruder when she heard noise in the living room around three in the morning, not her twenty-seven year old son binge-watching reality TV and eating what looked like his  _eighth_  bag of popcorn, judging by the empty bags that littered the floor. She managed to stop from screaming when she realized it was just her apparently insane son and not a home invader, but her startled jump still alerted Steve to her presence.

"Sorry!" he exclaimed through a mouthful of popcorn, scrambling for the remote and hitting mute, "I didn't mean to wake you, I'm sorry, I—"

"Sweetie." She stared at him flatly. "I love you, but what on earth are you doing here?"

"I, um." Steve rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "I need to talk to you."

"At three in the morning?"

"No no, just…I've been meaning to tell you for a while but I kept making excuses and Tony finally convinced me it'd be fine so I was going to talk to you today but by the time we got here you were asleep—"

"We?"

"Oh, uh." Steve shifted, leaning back a little so she could the clearly unconscious body of Steve's supposed-to-be-secret boyfriend, Tony, draped over the couch, his feet half in Steve's lap. "Tony came too."

"Why?" She shook her head, still a little too drowsy to make sense of it all. Tony had come over countless times before and she liked him very much, but since Steve had yet to open up to her about his sexuality and therefore the real nature of their relationship, Tony had never stayed over before.

"Moral support, mostly?" Steve rubbed his neck again, a nervous habit. "Could we maybe talk about this in the morning?"

"Is this about you and Tony?" She sighed. She would usually be more patient about letting Steve break the ice, but this was as close as he'd come to telling her in months and she knew from the anxious, worried look on his face that if she let him stew about it until morning he'd change his mind again. Besides that, she was tired and would very much like to be back in bed, not dealing with her son's ridiculous shenanigans. "I'm happy for you but you can't eat that much popcorn, you'll make yourself sick."

"I—wait—what?" Steve stammered.

"You think I don't know what love looks like?" She scoffed. "Especially on the face of my own boy? I'm no fool, honey. Get to bed, I'll make the three of us waffles tomorrow if you're up before my shift starts."

"Yeah?" Steve beamed.

"You get no more than three," she told him sternly.


	38. Apartment neighbors AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets drunk and loses his keys. Naturally, the best plan of action is to climb up the back of the building naked. Warnings: none. Well, nudity, but nothing sexual happens.

Tony had officially hit the stage of drunk where he was so drunk he shouldn't be allowed to do anything that wasn't sleep it off, but was no longer sober enough to recognize that fact. Rhodey had eventually convinced him to go home—manhandled him into a cab, really—and after stumbling into the elevator, slapping every button, and walking out onto the wrong floor three separate times, Tony was finally staring at his front door.

And realizing he didn't have his keys.

He snickered—giggled, really—putting a half-assed effort into searching his pockets. Cell phone. Keychain. Wallet. Ugh, his clothes were really heavy. He didn't like wearing clothes, they were bothersome and hot and wow, his floor was really hot for four in the morning, why was it so hot? It was Manhattan for fuck's sake, this was a crime. Tony stripped off his shirt, tossed it on the floor with his other shit. It wasn't enough to cool him down, so his pants and boxers followed soon after. Much better. He tried the door again, or at least banged on it, but it didn't magically pop open. That was disappointing.

He could call Rhodey, or Pepper, both of whom had keys to his apartment, but they'd both just sigh and be grumpy and make him put his clothes back on, and what fun was that? Besides, he hadn't tried the other door. So he headed for the stairs—the elevator had taken fucking forever, some asshole had pressed every button—and took them three at a time. Once on the ground floor he circled to the back of the building, stared up and looked for his balcony, the one with the dead plant Pepper had bought him a billion years ago that he kept forgetting to throw away. He found it quick enough, and hoisted himself up onto the first floor balcony.

Climbing was easier than expected. He spared a fleeting thought towards if he might hurt himself, before waving it off; that was stupid, he was Tony Stark, he was invincible. He'd climbed three stories, had one foot on his downstairs' neighbor's balcony grate and the other foot lifted high to propel himself up and onto his own balcony, when his downstairs neighbor decided to open his balcony door.

Tony froze.

Of all the people in the  _entire fucking building_ , Hot Laundry Guy was the one who came out. Hot Laundry Guy, aka the super hot, living G.I. Joe doll who always happened to be in the laundry room when Tony was—mostly because Tony had seen him there once while passing by and then decided to start doing his laundry there on that exact time and day every week—was possibly the one person on the entire planet Tony couldn't manage to speak to. Every time he tried his palms started sweating and his mouth went dry and his throat closed up; he was pretty sure he was allergic to the guy. Which didn't stop him from going out of his way to see the guy every week, it just meant that when Hot Laundry Guy shot him one of his brilliant smiles Tony always panicked and ran, leaving behind his laundry more than once. He'd had to replace practically his entire wardrobe by that point, all because he couldn't bring himself to say two words to the guy.

So now the one person on earth Tony blushed for was receiving a faceful of his junk.

To make it worse, Hot Laundry Guy looked extra hot all sleep-rumpled like that. He was nursing a mug of coffee, his hair stuck up in funny places, and his sleep clothes were minimal enough that Tony could see his bare, freckled shoulders. Tony didn't even have a thing for freckles, or shoulders, but he was having a really hard time not envisioning himself biting down those shoulders while being fucked six ways from—

Hot Laundry Guy interrupted his fantasies—which was probably good, since hiding an erection right then would be literally impossible—by telling him groggily, "When they said the room had a view, I thought they were talking about the ocean."

Before Tony's effectively paralyzed brain could so much as process that, much less reboot and respond, Hot Laundry Guy disappeared back into his apartment. Tony stayed there a moment, leg still propped up in the air uselessly. He should probably just jump and put himself out of his misery. Or at least move like, ten states away. Definitely move. Maybe fifteen states.

He climbed up to his own balcony, only to discover that too was locked.

He banged his head uselessly against the glass and debated trying to smash it in. He could pay for another one, but he'd probably just hurt himself trying and he'd had enough embarrassment for one lifetime. He was never drinking again. Except for once he got into his apartment, because he was going to need to get absolutely  _smashed_  to put this episode behind him—

"So." Tony glanced over the edge of his balcony at the sound of a voice, to see Hot Laundry Guy poking his head out and looking up at him in amusement. "You look like you could use some coffee."

Too stunned not to be flippant, Tony asked, "Do you usually let naked strangers who climb on your balcony into your apartment?"

"You're not a stranger." The guy shrugged, a hint of a smile on his lips. "You're Hot Laundry Guy."

And that was the moment Tony knew it was true love.


	39. Omega Steve AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is an omega, who assumes that because of his trip into the ice he's lost his soulmate forever. He's wrong. Warnings: none.

Nobody Steve met in the future believed him when he told them he wasn't an alpha. Every book, TV show and movie ever penned about him praised Captain America as the Ideal Alpha, so he could pretty much tattoo  _I'm actually an omega, thanks_ on his forehead and people would still think he was kidding. Even his SHIELD file listed him as an alpha. He'd never been ashamed of who he was, not then and not now, but he could recognize the unique opportunity that had been presented to him; for all that it was messed up, people paid more attention to alphas. So he used the misunderstanding to his advantage, spoke out about omega rights loudly and repeatedly, got people to listen in a way he knew they never would if they knew his real status.

He still felt guilty, sometimes. Not about abusing people's perceptions of him—it was their own fault for perpetuating negative stereotypes, and he'd never once  _actually said_  he was an alpha—but for not being honest about who he was. Being an omega didn't define him, but it was still an important part of his identity. He'd struggled with it at first, wondered if what the other kids said about him were true, and his ma had been the one to remind him that the only thing that mattered was the kind of person he was. She'd called him kind and brave and honest, and reminded him that somewhere out in the great wide world was someone who would know and love every last part of him. Being an omega, having a soulmate, was a gift.

It hurt more than Steve could bear sometimes that he'd missed out on that. He enjoyed the future and all that it had to offer, but to get here he'd lost his other half without ever even meeting them and that…that was something he didn't like to dwell on. Bucky had always made fun of him for how much time he'd spent thinking about what they might be like, daydreaming about their future. Now, he was just trying his hardest not to think about it. They'd probably passed away years ago. If they hadn't, he couldn't imagine how much they'd resent him for leaving them alone so long only to show up now, decades too late.

It was better if he didn't think about it.

So he used the public's perception of him as an alpha to do some good, used the serum's benefits to fight back against the future's insane problems—aliens? From outer space? Really?—and moved on with his life. He wasn't lonely, or anything. He had his friends and teammates for company and he had his job to keep him busy. He was doing alright.

Right up until Tony kissed him.

He was entirely ready to break it off, apologize and explain and smooth things over. He liked Tony, admired and respected and might've been just the slightest bit—entirely, ridiculously—infatuated with him, but that wasn't fair to Tony. Steve was an omega, he couldn't bond with anyone that wasn't the soulmate he'd lost when he'd gone under. Still, something like hope was already blossoming. What could it hurt to just…have this, for the few moments it lasted?

Steve thought the surprisingly powerful surge of emotion he felt was just his own, until they broke the kiss and he had to tell Tony that he was sorry, but that couldn't do this. Then, he felt a disappointment so viscerally painful it was startling. He frowned and squinted at Tony.

"Did you…?"

Tony grit his teeth. "Fuck. I'm—look, it's not—shit."

"What?" Steve asked, bewildered. What was going on? He shouldn't be able to feel Tony's emotions, that wasn't possible. He was an omega, he couldn't bond, he could only soulbond, but that wasn't possible either because his soulmate was gone. At least…he'd always assumed…

Tony was still talking. "I didn't mean to jump the bonding gun, okay, let's just…break it and never, ever talk about this again. And if you value my friendship at all you won't tell Clint because he'll laugh at me for about a hundred years—"

"We're bonded," Steve murmured, probing at the strange new feeling in his chest. If he pushed at it he could get a response, could feel Tony's discomfort and disappointment.

"You kissed me back!" Tony accused, "I thought—"

"No, I—Tony, we're bonded." Steve was grinning now, he knew, just like he knew how confused his expression was making Tony but he couldn't help it, Tony had kissed him and they'd bonded and  _Tony was his soulmate—_

"Wait, you're excited. Why are you excited? I'm really confus—" Steve kissed him, pulled him close and kissed him and poured every ounce of hopeful enthusiasm he could into the bond. When they parted, Tony cleared his throat awkwardly in a failed attempt to hide the fact that he too was now smiling like a loon. "So, uh. That's a no on the breaking-the-bond thing?"

"That's a 'can't'." Steve tried for a casual shrug, still unable to do anything about the dopey grin on his face. "I, uh. The whole Captain America, Ideal Alpha image may not be strictly accurate."

It clicked. Tony's eyes widened. "You're…"

"Yeah."

"Which makes us…" Tony stared up at him with no small amount of reverence. Then, seeming uncomfortable with it, he threw on a smirk. "Rhodey's going to lose his shit when I tell him I scored Captain America as my soulmate."

Steve didn't have any good answer to that so he just kissed Tony again, because he could and he wanted to. "I'm sorry I kept you waiting."

Tony only grinned. "What's a couple decades here and there between soulmates?"


	40. College AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets accidentally locked out of his dorm. Tony, his cute dormmate, lets him in. Magically, Steve's keycard seems to disappear altogether after that. Warnings: none.

The first time, it's genuine. His keycard doesn't work—probably because he lent it to Bucky the other day, who treats his things notoriously badly—and he has to stand outside his dorm for half an hour in the freezing cold waiting for someone to come by at two in the morning to let him in because his cell phone, like everything else he owns, is inside. He's just starting to acknowledge the fact that he may be stuck out here until the 7am classes start and students start leaving, when he hears someone behind him.

"You look like your balls are about to fall off," the guy informs him cheerily.

He looks small, barely big enough to be a freshman, and he's dwarfed even more by the baggy Air Force hoodie he's wearing and the four cups of coffee he's balancing precariously, two in each hand. Between the messy hair and blocky glasses, Steve can't help but notice he's also really,  _really_  cute.

"Been out here half an hour," Steve admits, "You wouldn't happen to have a keycard?"

"Sure do." The guy shifts so his backpack doesn't fall off the one shoulder he's got it balanced on. "Trade you; I'll let you in if you'll get it for me so I don't have to put down my coffee."

"Deal. Where is it?"

"Hoodie pocket."

Steve shuffles a little closer, reaches into the cute stranger's hoodie. He has a lot of junk stuffed in there, from the feel of it—money, cell phone, napkins—and it takes Steve an awkward minute of standing there, practically in the guy's arms while he sorts through it all, to find the keycard. For an insane couple of seconds, he pretends he hasn't found it while he gets a better look at the guy's face. God, he's cute.

"What's your name?" Steve asks before he can think better of it.

"Tony. You?"

"Steve."

"Steve," Tony repeats, grinning like he knows full well Steve's found his card already. Still, it's two am and Steve hasn't been this interested in someone in a long time, so what the hell. He doesn't take his hand out of Tony's hoodie just yet. Tony tilts his head a bit. "You like coffee?"

"Sure," he lies.

"Wanna make another trade?"

"Yes," he agrees immediately.

Tony's grin widens, and he gives Steve a look that can be classified as nothing less than shamelessly flirtatious. "I'll give you one of these coffees if you come study with me. Eyes like that'll keep me up all night no problem."

"Deal." Steve hopes it's not obvious in his voice how hard his heart is pounding.

"Got that card yet?"

"Look at that." Steve pulls his hand out. "I think I do."

They spend all night with books and coffee and serious study material in front of them, playing footsie and talking instead. Steve doesn't turn so much as a single page of his textbook.

The next time is two days after their all-night study session, enough time for Steve to get back to his room, sleep for a day, then talk Bucky and Sam's ears off about Tony until they take his keycard and kick him out of the building. Steve turns down fourteen people who offer to let him in before Tony shows up again. Tony teases him about not having his card, but lets him in and invites him up to play video games.

This happens more than twenty times over the next two months, sometimes when his friends steal his card and often when he just 'accidentally' forgets that it's right there in his backpack. They study together and play video games and talk about things Steve hasn't ever said out loud before, and before Steve knows it his silly little crush on the cute guy who let him in is pretty much full-blown love.

The twenty-fourth time, Tony's got his friends in tow this time, his roommate Rhodey and a redheaded girl Steve hasn't met but bets is Pepper. Tony brightens when he sees Steve, like he always does. "Locked out again? You've got the worst luck of anyone I know."

"My friends are jerks," Steve tells him, though he's going to buy them lunch tomorrow as a thank you.

"Hey, Steve," Rhodey greets, because they've hung out a dozen times now playing video games in his and Tony's room, "You coming up? Tony modified the TV again, the resolution is sick."

"Count me in."

"I'm Pepper, by the way." The girl introduces herself, shooting Tony an amused look. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Pepper!" Tony makes a betrayed noise.

"Huh." Steve's smile widens. Tony wrinkles his nose at him.

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything."

"You said 'huh', your 'huh's say a lot."

"Do they?"

"They do."

"We're gonna go on ahead and leave you to it." Rhodey jerked a thumb at the doors with a smirk.

"What it, there's no it—" Tony starts, but Rhodey's already swiped his card and he and Pepper go inside without looking back.

After a moment's awkward silence, Steve can't help but tell him, "I kind of thought there was an it."

Tony stares at him for few seconds, seeming genuinely surprised, then his face breaks into a smile. "I know a really good pizza place a few blocks from here."

"Lead the way."

They don't call it a date, exactly, but they don't  _not_  call it a date and they play footsie under the table and when Steve orders a milkshake the waitress gives them two straws, so they're not really fooling anyone except themselves. By the time they walk back to the dorm together it's definitely getting late and they both remember at exactly the same time that Rhodey and Pepper have been waiting for them for hours now. Tony starts laughing so Steve starts laughing then Tony laughs about Steve laughing and before either of them know it they're kissing under the stars in the middle of the quad for the whole world to see. Steve has no idea who started it but he doesn't care at all, just pulls Tony closer and kisses him harder.

"Okay," Tony pants, still trying to catch his breath as he admits with a grin, "We definitely have an it."


	41. Tony's afraid of the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder, comic Tony is canonically afraid of the dark. Warnings: none.

It wasn't a Thing.

At least, it wasn't a thing that interfered with his daily life, because Tony was much too smart for that. He'd never been allowed a nightlight as a child—the thought was laughable, even then—so he'd made a habit of opening his curtains wide as soon as his parents stepped out of the room. He'd let the streetlights and moonlight pool in, fill the cavernous space of his room and illuminate every corner. Nothing to fear when he could see the shape and size of everything, pick out the familiar and reassure himself there was nothing strange. Or, the little boy in his head whispered, monstrous.

The little boy became a man, built a workshop of glowing blue light and humming electricity, and fell asleep in it nearly every night.  _He's a workaholic,_ they said,  _just like his dad, unable to tear himself away,_ they said. They didn't know he went to bed on time more often than not, that he got plenty of sleep when he wasn't in the midst of anything time-sensitive. He just did it beside his bright, glowing creations, nothing dark or mysterious about the space he'd shaped every inch of.

It wasn't until after Afghanistan that he started sleeping in a bed again. It was a little odd at first, after so many years on the couch, but the circle of light in his chest illuminated the room with the same blue light he'd been falling asleep to for years in the workshop and soon enough he was sleeping in a bed again. Then New York had to throw everything for a loop; night terrors turned his quirk into a problem, kept him from sleeping at all no matter where he tried to go, no matter how many lights he kept on.

After dealing with the Mandarin his night terrors faded to manageable, but in his haste to rid himself the electromagnet in his chest he also rid himself of the one thing that let him have a good night's sleep in a real bed. It wasn't all bad, not even half bad, really. He just returned to sleeping in the workshop, like he had most of his life. He'd always felt safer there anyway. His problem returned to a quirk and life returned to as normal as it ever got for someone like him.

Years passed; he and Pepper broke up, he moved to New York, the Avengers moved in. No one was more surprised than Tony about that last one, but the world needed them more and more every day and they all got along surprisingly well. They even managed to bond, of all things, and it wasn't long before Tony considered them family.

A metaphor that became somewhat awkward after he and Steve began to date, but an apt one nonetheless.

He didn't give his quirk any thought at all, not even as Steve pushed him up against a wall after their first date, kissed him soundly, and informed Tony that he'd wait longer if Tony wanted but that waiting was really very overrated and something else, something that sounded like a planned speech before Tony kissed it off Steve's lips and got a hand on his belt. And really, how could Tony be expected to think that far ahead? There were much more important things to concern himself with then, things like the impatient sounds Steve made when he thought Tony wasn't stripping fast enough and the way Steve would break their kisses every so often just tell Tony how handsome he looked, how amazing he felt, how he was this and that and all sorts of other little things that spilled over his lips like a reflex and made Tony feel like the fumbling teenager he'd never really been. It wasn't until later, after they'd exhausted themselves and cleaned up a little and started to catch their breath, when Steve turned on his side and caught Tony's fingers in his. Then, looking at Steve's satiated, perfectly comfortable expression, Tony remembered. He was feeling much too open for it not to show on his face, so Steve saw the flicker of anxiety and squeezed his hand, scooted into Tony's space a little more.

"What?"

"Nothing," Tony lied automatically, but something that felt horrifically like a conscience nagged at him. "Just, uh. You're sleeping here?"

That was hurt in Steve's expression, no question about it, though he didn't release Tony's hand. "I don't have to."

"No, you can. I didn't—that sounded—stay. You should."

"Alright." Steve seemed to be trying to smirk, but it came out as a dopey sort of smile instead. "If you say so, Yoda."

"You're such a dork." Tony smiled back, fully aware his own was probably just as goofy and ridiculous but entirely beyond caring. It faltered when he remembered again what he had to say. He glanced away, not wanting to see the way Steve's expression would surely fall. He preferred the smile. "But I, um. Can't. Not that I don't want to, I do. I really do. I just have work to do, a lot of it. I pretty much always do, unfortunately, I don't really spend a whole lot of time in bed. I mostly crash in the workshop."

The excuse wouldn't work for long, he knew that. It was flimsy at best and Steve, already very perceptive, knew Tony especially well. Still, it seemed better than admitting to one of the people he admired most in the world, the person he could very well be falling in love with, that he was a grown man who didn't like the dark.

"I understand." Steve's tone was soft, quiet even though it was just the two of them.

"I don't have to go now, or anything." Tony fidgeted, feeling awful. "I can stay until you fall asleep?"

Steve drew him close, kissed him for an endless, perfect moment. "Nah. I'll come with you."

"I—" Tony paused, thrown for a temporary loop. That wouldn't work. "That's—you don't have to, it's just work, it's boring—"

"I like watching you work." Steve smiled. "Didn't think that was a very well-kept secret."

"It really isn't." Tony smiled back in spite of himself. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were staring at me. Almost as if you liked me or something."

Steve's face scrunched up a little, pretending to think about it. "You're tolerable."

"Mm, that's funny." Tony hummed a little, stretched out a bit. "I remember something about 'amazing'. And 'irresistible'. And 'handsome'—"

Steve laughed. "I never said irresistible."

"There were a lot of 'I need you's and such. It was implied." Tony smirked, trying to come off as cocky instead of hopelessly smitten. He wasn't doing very well, obviously, because Steve just smiled wider and kissed his nose.

"Fair enough."

"So you admit I'm irresistible."

"I admit you're ridiculous. Which might be a little irresistible."

"I'll take it." Tony lingered a moment, before kissing Steve once more and moving out of bed. He was exhausted; supersoldier stamina was nothing to laugh at. "Stay in bed, get some sleep. I'll probably join you later."

It was a lie, but just a little white one. Either way Steve didn't listen, sat up like Tony and swung his legs off the bed to go in search of his clothes. "Serum means I don't need much sleep anyway. I'd rather go with you."

"Steve, I mean it," Tony tried to insist, "Just get some sleep, there's nothing to do down there for you but watch."

"I thought we covered the part where I said I liked that." Steve grinned at him for a beat, but his good humor faded as he caught something in Tony's expression. "Tony?"

"What?" Tony looked away, focused on tugging his underwear on.

"Do you not want me down there?" Steve frowned, not hurt this time so much as curious, a little confused.

"Can't say you wouldn't be a hell of a distraction." That, at least, was the truth. Tony's gaze fell on and lingered over the fading hickeys scattered across Steve's collarbones. He wished they'd last longer.

Steve, for his part, just kept looking at Tony curiously. He obviously knew Tony wasn't telling him something. He didn't ask, just came around the bed and closer to Tony like he knew full well Tony's ability to lie had a direct, negative correlation to Steve's imminent proximity. He probably did. Strategist, and all that. Tony held it in, prepared to lie and bluster his way through any demands to know what was going on, but Steve just hugged him.

"Uh." Tony cleared his throat. "What?"

Steve squeezed him tighter instead of saying anything, didn't let go until Tony hugged him back. He released Tony then and stepped away, though not without kissing Tony on the cheek.

"Alright," Steve just told him, "I'll be here."

"Okay. I…yeah." Tony stood there another moment, awkwardly unsure if that was really all. He expected…he didn't know what he expected. Wasn't Steve mad? "Goodnight, then."

"Goodnight, Tony." Steve smiled as he slipped back into bed, genuine if a little sad, and Tony knew he wasn't angry. Disappointed, maybe, but not angry. Tony had no idea what to do with that. Mad he could figure out. Disappointed was worse.

But then Steve clicked out the light, so instead of trying to make it better Tony took the coward's way out and fled the room.

He lasted about half an hour trying to sleep on the couch in the workshop. Not a single minute went by he didn't think about the fact that there was a naked, cuddly Steve  _in his own bed_ and he was hiding somewhere else. It was torture of the worst sort, and it wasn't long before Tony realized there was absolutely no way he was going to do this every night. He and Steve wouldn't last forever, he knew—no way he'd be able to hold onto something so good for very long—but that was all the more reason to enjoy it while he still could.

"JARVIS?" He sighed. "Patch me through to Steve. Steve?"

"Yeah?" Tony doubted Steve had even tried to sleep, his voice didn't sound sleepy at all. If anything, he sounded hopeful. Tony felt a little amused and mostly awful.

"Come to the workshop, I should probably tell you something."

"I'm already in the elevator," Steve answered sheepishly. Tony couldn't help a tired laugh.

"Of course you are."

"Well." Steve sounded like he was fiddling. "Look, I haven't exactly slept with tons of people, but I was sort of under the impression you didn't go running out on them first chance you got unless it didn't mean all that much—"

"No, that's— _no._ " Tony stumbled over his words in an attempt to put that insane idea out of Steve's head as fast as possible. "Steve, you're one of the best friends I've ever had. You're—I had an amazing time with you tonight, I told you that, right? Not the sex—that too, duh—but before? When I'm with you it's like—it's like I'm eighteen again, young and dumb and invincible in all the good ways."

"Yeah?" Steve's voice came from behind him this time instead over the speakers. Tony turned, saw him standing just outside the elevator.

"Yeah." Tony smiled. "Idiot. I thought we covered the part where I'm self-destructive and possibly a little neurotic."

"We did." Steve stepped further into the workshop, caught sight of the couch made up with blankets and pillows. "But maybe you could explain this one to me a little more?"

"It's not—a phobia has to interfere with my life, specifically cause distress or impairment, which it hasn't. Well, it did, sometimes, but only when paired with the whole—the panic attack thing, which I told you about. Right?"

"Right," Steve answered after realizing Tony wanted him to, but didn't say anything else.

"Right. Until now, obviously, because you being naked in my bed and me not being there too is definitely causing distress. Because you mean a lot to me, and running out isn't something I wanted to do, or even planned to do, because who the hell knew you would put out on the first date, that's—sorry, shit, I didn't mean to say that—"

"It's alright." Steve seemed to be stifling a smile. "Sort of surprised myself a little. But if you ask Natasha, that was our forty-seventh date, so if anything we're overdue."

"Natasha's been keeping track of our not-dates?" Tony asked, temporarily distracted.

"I think Natasha likes us together more than we like us together." Steve laughed.

"Definitely not true," Tony said immediately, because there was no possible way anyone in the known universe was happier about today's turn of events than Tony himself. Steve smiled.

"So you're happy with…" Steve waved a hand vaguely. "How this all went?"

"Happy's inadequate," Tony said truthfully, then felt his face heat with embarrassment, "But I—that's not—"

"Good." Steve closed the much too far distance between them, cupped a hand over the back of Tony's neck and drew him into a far too brief kiss. "So it's not me. And it's not a phobia. What is it?"

"It's a quirk," Tony admitted with a not-so-subtle lick of his lips.

"Hardly your only one." Steve's thumb rubbed at the base of his neck. God, that felt good. He was reminded again of how incredibly tired he was; supersoldier sex was a workout Tony had definitely not been prepared for.

"You can't laugh," Tony said, even as he leaned into Steve's touch, pressed his forehead into the crook of Steve's shoulder.

"I won't," Steve promised, brought his other hand up to Tony's back, held him closer.

Tony stayed there a moment, closed his eyes and swayed a little in Steve's arms and let the ridiculousness of it all wash over him. "I don't like the dark. Never have, I've slept in my workshop since my first one."

"All the lights." Steve looked around, but didn't let go of Tony.

"Right." Tony nodded. Then, because he might as well at this point, he elaborated. "And it's…I made everything here. Built it or created it or hauled it down or…it's all mine. It's familiar. There's nothing here I don't know inside and out, can't take apart and put back together with my eyes closed."

"Or in the dark."

"Or in the dark," Tony agreed.

"I could sleep here."

"You don't have to."

"I want to." Steve pulled back just enough to get a look at Tony's expression. "Do you want me to?"

Tony was tired enough to be honest, so he nodded. Steve's smile was worth it. Also worth it—infinitely more than worth a painful moment or two of honesty—was falling asleep wrapped up in Steve's arms, surrounded by all the warmth and affection Steve practically radiated. Tony didn't often get to keep good things, but this…he'd fight for this.


	42. Time-traveling "meet the parent(s)"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As it turns out, Steves of all ages universally adore Tony Stark. Warnings: none.

Steve had to let go of Tony's hand; if he didn't, he might very well break it.

"Relax." Tony's hand came up around his shoulders instead, squeezed. Steve leaned into his touch immediately.

"How am I going to say goodbye again?" he murmured, "I don't know if I…"

"Don't think about the goodbye," Tony urged, "Think about the hello. Think about how surprised she'll be, how happy it'll make her to see how well you grew up."

"That I grew up at all." The Steve Rogers behind that door was only five, but Steve knew doctors had already been telling Mom for years that he wouldn't live to see ten, much less thirty-two.

"I've never met her," Tony acknowledged, "But the way you talk about her, sometimes I feel like I have, and I definitely think I've heard enough about her to know she didn't doubt that for a second."

"No." Steve smiled, remembering the way she'd always tell him never to listen, to always get back up and fight another day. "No, probably not."

"So what've you got to be afraid of? Buck up, honey," Tony teased, "You're not the one meeting your mother-in-law."

"Please." Steve rolled his eyes. "You're going to get on like a house on fire."

"Now that I'm the one in need of reassurance you get sassy again, I see how it is."

"Mom's favorite thing to do is dote on people, your favorite thing is to be doted on. You'll be fine."

"That is a blatant lie, I do not—"

"Tony."

"Right, okay, but who doesn't?"

"She's going to love you." Steve leaned into him a little more, kissed his temple. "I promise."

"And if she doesn't you'll just divorce me and I'll be alone forever, no pressure."

Steve laughed. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm being extremely serious."

"Sure, Tony." He knew Tony was trying to get him to laugh, lighten him up a little before they went inside. He appreciated it.

"You going to knock or what, Stark?" Tony bumped his hip, teasing him with their last name. It never failed to make Steve smile; now was no exception. Steve reached out to knock and tried to remember there was really no reason to be nervous. He was just seeing his mother again for the first time in about a century. And bringing his very male husband home to meet her. From the future.

Right.

"Hello, can I help—" When she opened the door, she was drying off her hands with a dishrag. When she met his eyes, it dropped to the floor. Her voice wavered, "Joseph?"

Steve's throat closed. Tony stepped up, started to explain, "I'm afraid not—"

Steve couldn't quite explain what came over him but before Tony could introduce them, or so much as finish his sentence, Steve was vaulting forward into his mother's arms. He knew she didn't recognize him yet, knew it would take some explanation before she believed them, but it'd been so long and he'd missed her more than he could put to words. He'd never imagined he'd see her again. Never imagined he'd get to tell her how his life turned out, all the people he'd met and the places he'd seen, how the world would change beyond either of their dreams or nightmares. Just seeing her face again had him bubbling over with happy, grateful energy; he wanted to tell her everything.

"My." She patted him on the back lightly, clearly still unsure of who he was or why he was here. "Have we met before?"

Steve reluctantly let her go, at least for now. "It's me, Mom. Steve."

She shook her head, glanced behind her into the apartment. "You're mistaken, that's—my son's in bed." She laughed a little, more a nervous sort of titter than anything else. "And he's only five."

"In bed with pneumonia, right?" Steve pressed, "Third time in six months? And every doctor you take me—him—us to, they just say the same thing, to let nature run its course, that's he's not going to make it. But you tell me not to listen. That they don't know what they're talking about because they've never come across a fighter like me before."

"That's—I—" She stammered, unable to draw up a real response.

"I'm from the future," Steve told her, "And I know how crazy it sounds, like something out of a comic book, but it's the truth. I'm thirty-two now, and I've got so much to tell you if you'll give me the chance."

His mother stepped forward hesitantly, cupped his chin in her hand and turned his head. He let her, waiting as patiently as he could while she took in his features, watched his eyes and tried to spot a lie.

"Can't fool a mother," she told him, and for a moment, Steve was terrified she didn't believe him. That he'd been given this amazing chance to see her again,  _talk_ to her, and he'd lost it somehow. Then she dropped her hand to pull him back into her arms, and he sank into her gratefully. He was careful not to lean on her too much, but hugged her as tightly as he reasonably could.

"It's so good to see you, Mom." He couldn't help the way his eyes were watering, but she just smiled wider and gave a little laugh.

"You too, baby." She gave one of his arms a squeeze, relief clear as day on her face. "I can't believe how healthy you are."

"That's sort of a long story." Eager to make her proud, he was quick to add, "But I was a soldier for a while, like Dad."

"Not just any soldier." Tony bumped his elbow. "Your boy's a Commander now."

"I—a Commander?" Mom's eyebrows jumped, and her stunned, pleased smile made Steve feel better than anything. "That's amazing, Steve. Are you his lieutenant?"

Tony laughed. "Something like that. Maybe we could talk about it inside?"

"Yes, yes of course." She stepped back, opened the door wider to let them in, adding with a laugh, "Not every day your son comes home from the future, you'll forgive me if I'm a little rattled. Helen will be terribly jealous."

Steve stifled a laugh, told Tony, "Mom's been in competition with Helen Krasinsky from across the road since before I was born."

"It's not a competition if I'm winning, darling."

"I see that competitive nature of his is genetic." Tony grinned as he removed his shoes, tucking them by the door like Steve had.

"Do try to be quiet." Mom glanced down the hall before she led them inside, towards the sitting room. "Steve—the younger one of you, I suppose—he just went down and he could use the rest."

Tony fidgeted a bit, glanced back in the direction she had. "No chance I could maybe…just, you know. Pop my head in? Or something? Steve hasn't got any baby pictures, I've been dying of curiosity."

"I'm sure I look the same as any other—" Steve started, somewhat uncomfortable with the idea. Rationally speaking he knew Tony loved him for far more than his physique, but that didn't mean he particularly wanted his husband to see firsthand how sickly he'd once been, either. Regardless, his mother cut them both off before it could go anywhere.

"Is that a  _ring?"_ She stopped short in front of him, taking his hand and looking it over. "You're married? Steven, that's wonderful! Who is she, why didn't you bring her along?"

"Well." Steve cleared his throat. It was now or never. Not that he thought his mother would be against it, exactly, but it certainly wasn't anything she was expecting. He reached behind him for Tony's hand, tugged him forward. "That's the thing, Mom. I did."

"You…" She paused, seeming more startled than anything else, which Steve knew was more than fair. "You're from how far in the future?"

"That's where it gets even more complicated. I should start from the beginning," Steve told her, "But first, this is my husband, Tony. Tony Stark."

"Stark? As in—?"

"Related," Tony answered vaguely, extending a hand, "I know I'm not who you were envisioning for your son, ma'am. But I want you to know that he means the world to me; I'd go to the ends of the earth for him and I'm honored to meet the woman who made him into the man I know today."

Steve could tell Tony had rehearsed that to death in his head, but refrained from teasing him about it. Tony looked nervous enough as it was. Mom just smiled kindly.

"You love him?"

" _Absolutely,"_ Tony answered immediately and with force, "Did I not say that? That was stupid of—I should've led with that, yes, god yes, I love your son, I love him more than—"

Tony looked like he was ramping up for a speech, sucked in a breath and everything, but Mom effectively shut him down by pulling him into a hug. Tony startled a little, his face going blank with surprise.

"Good." She kissed his cheek. "That's all I ever would've asked for in a child-in-law."

"Oh, that's—I mean, I had more prepared, but—uh, yeah." Tony hugged her back finally, beaming like a dope at Steve over her shoulder. "Nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Rogers."

"I think 'Mom' might be a little more appropriate, don't you?" She released him with a smile. "Certainly less of a mouthful."

"I…" Tony looked stunned. A little reverent, even. Steve might've talked his mom up a bit more than he'd realized. "Yeah. Yes. Okay. Will do."

"Very eloquent," she teased him. Steve was pleased to see Tony blush.

"Steve's talked my ear off about you since we met." Tony gave an embarrassed little half-shrug. "I'm just—I'm really glad we got to meet, that's all."

"We haven't met, then? In the future?" She didn't seem terribly surprised, but Steve still felt the need to protect her from the entirety of the truth.

"Something happens to me, it's—well, like I said, it's a long story." Steve took a seat on the couch, Tony beside him. "It starts with a second war."

All in all, they'd been given twelve hours in the past. A bit of it was spent explaining Steve's transformation and trip to the 21st century, but most of it was spent telling her about his life there; the friends he'd made, the adventures he'd had, the good he was trying to do. He told her about Bucky, though he left out the more gruesome details. After a quick sidebar about what exactly a cellphone was and could do, he used his phone to show her pictures to go along with his descriptions and stories. He even brought up the photos he'd saved from the wedding, everyone in formal wear and grinning like idiots. The photos stopped abruptly halfway through the ceremony, so he had to explain about Galactus crashing it, and how that was actually very normal considering their lives. She didn't seem to know quite what to make of that. He didn't blame her; a decade ago, neither would he.

"Mama?"

"Oh my god." Tony slapped at Steve's knee excitedly, not taking his eyes from the hallway. "Oh my  _god."_

Steve and his mom both turned to see Steve's five year old self peering around the corner. He shrunk back a bit at being caught, then seemed to second think it and marched over.

"Who're you?" His younger self asked.

"Be polite, Steve." Mom stifled a smile, glancing between the two versions of him.

"You're  _so cute,"_ Tony whispered to him, smacking Steve's knee again as he accused, "You didn't tell me you were that cute!"

Steve thought he was more scrawny than cute, small and gangly where other kids his age would be taller, more filled out. His cheeks were flushed and splotchy with fever, too, a sharp contrast to how pale his skin was from rarely leaving the house. He just looked sickly, if anything, but for once he was happy Tony didn't agree with him.

"Excuse me," younger Steve corrected himself, "Who are you, please?"

"I'm Tony." Tony scooted forward, extended a hand to him like he would an adult. Younger Steve looked up at him, seeming a little shy, before taking his hand and shaking back. "Wow, you've got a strong handshake there."

"Not really." Younger Steve looked down at his hand anyway, flexed it a little, curious.

"Oh, definitely." Tony grinned, patted the real Steve's bicep. "Tell you what, I'll bet you ten dollars you're going to grow up to be as strong as this guy right here."

" _Ten whole dollars?"_ Younger Steve's eyes just about popped out of his head. "You got a deal, mister!"

"Better shake on it." Tony stuck out his hand again, and this time younger Steve took it eagerly. Tony pretended it was too much for him. "Yikes, careful! You'll break my hand if you don't watch that strength of yours."

Younger Steve giggled and shifted closer, clearly knowing Tony was kidding around but pleased by it anyway. Steve remembered what that age had been like for him, remembered the way adults had tended to ignore him altogether, like just because he was small he was invisible too. He hadn't met Bucky yet either, and the neighborhood kids mostly picked on him. It had just been him and his mom, and he of course loved her to death but he'd still been very lonely at times. He knew Tony probably wasn't thinking that hard about it, was probably just excited to see what Steve had been like as a child, but Steve was grateful for his kindness anyway.

His younger self hovered there a moment, inching closer and closer to Tony like if he did it slowly it somehow might go unnoticed. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then shut it, then swallowed and blurted, "D'you know how to play dominos?"

"I love dominos," Tony lied. Steve knew full well the man had no patience whatsoever for games like that, but his younger self brightened immediately and moved even closer so he was practically in Tony's lap.

"I got some in my room! Not a complete set but a couple 'cause my aunt gave me some for Christmas and I found a few in the gutter outside Miss Haley's place—"

"You got them where?" Mom interrupted, concerned, "Stevie, those are all sorts of dirty, you can't just—"

"I washed 'em!" Younger Steve insisted quickly, darting a look between his mom and Tony, clearly scared that Tony wouldn't want to play now. "I promise, mister, they're real clean, they won't get you sick or nothin'. And I won't either! I'll sit far away—"

"That's ridiculous, why would I want you to sit far away?" Tony ruffled younger Steve's hair. The boy absolutely  _beamed._

Steve was a little embarrassed on his own behalf at this point, but it was balanced out by the fact that he entirely understood what being that enamored with Tony felt like. Tony obviously paid him different sorts of attention these days, but one of Tony's better qualities was that when he really wanted to make someone feel special, he could make them feel like there wasn't anyone else in the world.

"Y'sure it's alright?" Younger Steve seemed to second-guess himself, glancing at his mother. "Didn't you come to talk to my mama?"

"For a little bit." Tony nodded. "But I'm also very excited to talk to you."

"You are?" Younger Steve's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "Really?"

"Really really," Tony confirmed, squeezing the real Steve's knee before standing up. "In fact, I think I'm going to leave Mr. Grant here with your mom. They've got a lot of catching up to do, and I can't tell you how much I want to see what your room looks like."

"It's kind of messy right now." Younger Steve glanced down, embarrassed, but Tony just grinned.

"I bet. And I bet you don't ever cap your toothpaste either, do you?"

"How'd you know that?" Younger Steve gaped up at him.

"I know lots of things." Tony held out a hand to younger Steve, who stared at it in surprise for a moment before taking it. "I'm psychic, I can tell the future."

Steve snorted from the couch. His younger self ignored him, enraptured by Tony. " _Really?"_

"Nah, I'm just really smart. Which is kind of like being psychic, only much, much better. Do you like science yet?"

"Sure!" younger Steve chirped, clearly willing to like anything Tony told him to.

"Cool, we can—"

"You're cold?" Younger Steve frowned, tugged him towards the hallway. "I got blankets in my room, d'you want one?"

"No, I—cool means…it's like saying 'great'," Tony explained as he let himself be led out of the room.

"Cool!" Younger Steve parroted back, then they turned the corner and were out of sight.

Steve glanced at his mother, who had a hand over her mouth and was trying not to laugh aloud. "I suppose it's for the best we won't remember all this, then. If I had to tell him Tony wasn't ever coming back to play I think it might just break his little heart."

"Can't argue with that," Steve admitted. It was strangely sweet to know he'd adore Tony at any age.

"I like him," she told Steve with a soft smile, "It's been a long time since I've seen two people look at each other they way you do. I can't tell you how happy I am that you have that kind of love in your life."

"Yeah." He smiled back, pleased beyond words that she approved."Tony, he's…he's something else. I haven't met anyone like him, past or present."

Tony and Steve's younger self didn't reappear until called for dinner, and even then they didn't come out until Steve himself went and got them. They'd progressed from dominos to building a blanket fort, which was apparently, his younger self informed him excitedly, an "engerdeering masserpiece".

"He's perfect, I want ten," Tony informed Steve after his younger self had gone off down the hall to help Mom set the table.

"That seems a little excessive." Steve chuckled.

"You're right, I've changed my mind," Tony agreed. Steve couldn't help the flicker of disappointment, but then Tony kept talking. "Go big or go home. We'll get twelve, everything's cheaper by the dozen."

"I don't really think that's a good enough reason to have twelve children." Steve laughed. "One or two might be nice though."

"You don't want to raise a pack of mini-you's with me?"

"You do know we can't actually get twelve—or  _any—_ mini-me's, right?"

"Cloning's a thing."

"Cloning is not a thing."

"I could definitely make it a thing."

"Let me clarify: I do not want clone babies, Tony. I want normal babies, in normal amounts, with you."

"But that's so  _normal."_ Tony made a face, but Steve could spot the way the corner of his mouth kept quirking up.

"We traveled a hundred years into the past today." Steve moved into Tony's space, got his hands around Tony's waist. "You met your deceased mother-in-law and played dominos with your husband as a five year old. Nothing about our lives is normal, honey, and having two kids instead of twelve isn't going to do anything except cut down exponentially on the amount of diapers we'll have to change."

Tony's eyes went wide, and he quickly nodded. "No, yeah, two. I could do two."


	43. Let's get f-ing married

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve can't believe he just said that out loud, and Tony's pretty sure he's dreaming. Warnings: none.

Of all the insane, impulsive things Steve had done in his life, this very nearly took first place.

Nothing really topped agreeing to Project Rebirth, considering the only other test subject had wound up as a raving, red-skulled lunatic, but he could admit this was a very, very close second. He had no plan, no strategy, not even so much as a thought process. It was just a lazy Sunday morning in bed, tangled up in Tony, making out in that slow, intentionless way he knew Tony secretly liked best. Tony stretched out a little, draped himself over Steve a bit more to nip at his ear.

"So what're we doing today, huh?"

Steve, surprising no one more so than himself, decided to answer with, "Let's get married."

It was probably relevant to mention they'd been dating all of three days.

Tony blinked back at him. Neither of them moved. After what felt like an exceptionally long silence—though Steve really had no way of telling time, his brain was mostly one big scream of  _did you actually just say that out loud—_ Tony blinked again.

"Yeah, okay."

"What?"

"Well." Tony licked his lips, nervous or considering or both. "Option one, highest probability, I dreamed up the last three days, which I sort of suspected anyway, in which case why not go for the full blown fantasy and get dream-hitched. Option two, second highest probability, some asshole villain of the month hit me hard enough that I'm unconscious. Still dreaming, still want to get dream-hitched. Option three, the last three days happened and this part is what's the dream, which is absolutely preferable though less likely, but the outcome is the sa—"

"Is there an option where I'm just stupid in love with you?" Steve told him, because his mouth seemed to be on autopilot today. "Where we've been close for a decade and I've been in love with you for years and the past three days were real, right now is real, and me asking you to marry me is horrifically unplanned but also very real?"

Tony paused again.

"It's not one of the likely ones."

"You're having a worryingly minimal reaction to this," Steve said, because Tony's expression still hadn't changed much and he had no idea how to interpret that.

"Yeah, no, fuck." Tony surged forward, finally kissed him with the intensity one might expect from someone who'd just accepted a marriage proposal. "Let's get fucking married."

"Let's get fucking married," Steve echoed, the smile on his face so wide it damn near hurt. No, he hadn't meant to say it. Yes, it was absolutely a crazy and impulsive idea. It was also the best one he'd ever had.


	44. Flower crowns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of all Loki's spells, Tony thinks this might be the most ridiculous. Warnings: none.

"This is stupid," Tony said flatly.

"I don't know." Sam shrugged, fiddling with the flower that had sprouted above his right ear. "I think they're kinda fun."

"Why do you have more flowers than I do?" Clint frowned at Sam. "You don't even have hair."

"I have fuzz," Sam defended.

"That's your concern, Clint?" Tony rolled his eyes.

"If I'm going to have a flower crown, I'm going to have the best flower crown," Clint insisted, touching his own as if to check it was still there, "Am I still at six?"

"It's not even a crown," Tony pointed out, "It's barely a handful."

"He's just jealous," Natasha informed Clint matter-of-factly as she stroked her own, a string of four red and yellow buds by her temple, "That he doesn't have any."

"Grateful, maybe," Tony countered, "How are you all supposed to wash your hair now, anyway?"

"The spell shall only last a day, Anthony," Thor told him, "It shall not be of inconvenience."

Tony just kicked his feet up on the conference table and shrugged. "I still say it's stupid."

"Jealous," Clint sing-songed.

"Here." Bruce plucked one of his own, a bright, pinkish orange flower Tony had no name for, and tucked it into Tony's hair. "Now you have one too."

Though he refrained from saying anything, secretly Tony couldn't help feeling pleased. Snickers rose up around the table. Tony narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"Take a look." Clint grinned, passing him the hand mirror they'd been using to examine themselves while waiting for their team leader to arrive.

Oh god.

Around Bruce's flower, his hair—head? Tony had no idea—had sprouted three soft pink, fluffy looking buds to hold Bruce's in place.

"His gift pleased you, then." Thor gave a rumbling, knowing laugh.

"What, no, that's—" Why were they  _pink,_ anyway? Didn't pink flowers mean love or something? "I mean, Brucie, you know I love you as a friend and all, but—"

"Pink carnations can symbolize gratitude, not just love," Natasha informed him with an amused smile. Eyebrows went up around the table, but she just shrugged. "I like flowers."

"What do mine mean?" Sam leaned in.

"Yours are chrysanthemums." Natasha touched one, stroking the petals softly with her thumb. "The white ones you have symbolize loyalty and optimism, as well as open honesty."

"What about mine?" Clint demanded eagerly, leaning on the table.

"Blue delphiniums." Natasha gave a small smile. "Boldness, big-heartedness, and ardent loyalty."

"And what of mine?" Thor perked up.

"They're gladiolus, warrior's flowers. They stand for strength of character, faithfulness, and honor."

Thor looked immensely pleased by that, which was followed by a new bud sprouting along the crown of his head.

"So we get new ones every time we're happy then, or what?" Tony pretended to be texting while he googled the meaning of pink carnations. It couldn't just be gratitude, right? Everyone else's flowers had meaning about their personalities.

"Strong emotions," Thor corrected.

"Such as gratefulness," Bruce pointed out with a glance to the carnations by Tony's temple, before turning his attention to Natasha, "Mine are cosmos, aren't they? Peace and compassion?"

Natasha nodded. "And the brighter ones symbolize transformation."

"Sounds about right." Tony fiddled with one of his carnations. "So these aren't 'my' flower, then?"

"Carnations generally represent variations of love, admiration, and gratitude," Natasha rattled off, "Does that sound particularly like you?"

"Not even on a good day." Clint snorted. "What're yours, Nat?"

"Snapdragons." Natasha smiled, a bit of pride to it. "Grace, perseverance, and deception."

"What about Steve, did anyone catch sight of his?" Sam asked, curious. Around the table the team shook their heads.

"He still had his helmet on last I saw." Clint shrugged. "He'll be back from the hospital soon though, he was just dropping off the—oh my god."

"What?" Tony frowned. Why was everyone staring at him? He picked the mirror back up hesitantly, took a glance.

Shit.

It was even worse than last time; he had five new flowers now, all purple, puffy looking things. Between those and the carnations he now had more flowers than any of them. He put his head in his hands with a groan.

"Those would be anemone," Natasha told him. He could hear the knowing smirk in her voice. "Would you like to know what they mean?"

"Nope."

"I think we're all very interested." Clint propped his chin in both hands. "Do tell, Tasha."

"Anemone symbolize anticipation, hope, and unrequited infatuation. Is there something you'd like to tell us, Tony?"

"Nope," Tony repeated emphatically, still not taking his face out of his hands.

"So is the redness of your face a side effect of the magic, or are we witnessing the historic event that is Tony Stark blushing?" Clint snickered.

"I fucking hate magic," Tony muttered.

"Well, that's nothing new." Oh no.

Steve.

Tony jolted up, knocking his chair back a little as he stumbled to his feet. "I have—a thing. To do. A thing to do, so I'll just be going, and gone for, oh, a day, or seven—"

"What?" Steve, still standing in the doorway, now looked confused. His helmet was still on, so Tony couldn't see his flower crown. "Tony—wow, that's—why are you the only one still growing flowers?"

"What do you mean,  _still?_ Jesus, nobody look!" Tony put both hands over his head, elbowed his way past Steve out the door, calling behind him. "Keep your mouth shut, Romanoff!"

"What? Tony, where are you—?" Steve called after him, but Tony was already out the door and taking off down the hallway.

They held debriefs in the Tower these days, thank god, so Tony slipped into the elevator, jabbed the button for his floor, and ordered JARVIS not to allow any outside communication. He needed a mirror and some scissors.

By the time he stumbled into his bathroom and got a look at himself, he had a full, thick crown of them. He took up some scissors and started cutting them out, avoiding his actual hair as best he could. For every one he cut out, however, another just bloomed in its place. He didn't need Natasha or google to know what his hair-garden was telling him; the still-sprouting flowers were mostly pinks and yellows, all bright and happy-looking and—and  _pretty,_  ugh.

Someone knocked on his door.

"Go away," Tony called back.

"Tony, open the door," Steve called back with a sigh. Tony watched in the mirror as a row of pink flowers sprouted along the crown of his head just at hearing Steve's voice.

"Peonies, sir," JARVIS informed him, "Typically symbolizing—"

"Shut up," Tony hissed to his traitorous AI, then called to Steve, "Thanks but no thanks, Cap, I'm good where I'm at."

"C'mon, Tony, they look fine," Steve tried, "And we all have them, it's not a big deal."

Tony considered that. "Natasha didn't tell you what they mean?"

"She said we all have our own." Steve paused. "Why, what do yours mean?"

"I have extra ones because I have more brain cells," Tony lied, "And because I have so many brain cells I have to devote them to science, which means I'm busy, so thanks for checking in and I'll see you later—"

"You're doing science in your bathroom." It wasn't even a question, just a flat, skeptical statement.

"Don't question my multitude of brain cells."

"Apparently I've got plenty of my own." Steve snorted. "The team seems to think I've got even more flowers than you."

"You do?" Tony frowned. He made a few nonverbal hand signs in the air to JARVIS, who understood and pulled up the image of Steve standing outside his door. Steve did indeed have more than Tony; a wild, thick crown of pinks and yellows and purples. Those were love flowers, Tony recognized them well enough at this point even if he couldn't put names to them. Disappointment curled low in his gut. "For who?"

"For who what?" Steve quirked his head.

"You get flowers when people make you feel things, who made you feel things? Was it Sam? I knew you and Sam were—"

"No, no, not—uh, you know." Steve shuffled a little, his tell. "Just sort of happened, hard to tell when. I was wearing the helmet, after all."

"What were you thinking about?" Or who, Tony should say, but that felt petty.

"Not sure." Steve was rocking on the balls of his feet now, clearly unaware Tony was watching because he wasn't at all trying to hide the fact that he was obviously and totally lying.

"You've got love flowers," Tony accused, "Why didn't you tell me you liked someone on the team?"

"Why didn't  _you_ tell  _me?"_ Steve shot back, looking a little frustrated. Maybe even disappointed, though Tony couldn't be sure and that wouldn't make any sense. "If I've got love flowers so do you, yours looked the same as mine do."

"Because it's—it's pointless, I'll get over it soon enough anyway."

It was such complete bullshit Tony was amazed he could even say the words. Steve didn't really seem to buy it, just squinted his eyes at the door for a minute as if he could spontaneously develop x-ray vision. Slowly, the purple flowers Tony recognized from earlier, the ones Natasha had called anemone, started to bloom across the crown of Steve's head. Hadn't she said they symbolized hope?

"Tony…" Steve stopped rocking on his feet and just leaned closer to the door. "Tony, did you start growing all those flowers because I walked in?"

Tony opened his mouth to lie, then considered the anemone still blooming in Steve's hair. "Maybe."

Steve's hair pretty much exploded with blooming flowers. Tony tried and failed not to grin like an idiot. A glance back at the mirror confirmed that he too had an overabundance of flowers spilling over his ears, all pinks and purples and yellows. He still looked ridiculous, but so did Steve. He waved away the screen, moved over to unlock the door. Steve took two quick steps into the room, towards Tony, before hesitating. His gaze flicked up to Tony's flower crown—really more of a garden, at this point—then he broke into an abashed sort of smile.

"Love flowers, huh?"

"That's what Natasha said." Tony gave a jerky sort of nod. "When I, uh. They talked about you coming back from the hospital soon. And I grew…" He reached up, felt out the anemone. "These ones. Apparently they mean anticipation and hope. And, uh. Unrequited love."

"Then your flowers don't have a clue what they're talking about." The smile spread over Steve's face as he stepped forward, touched one of the flowers by Tony's temple.

"That would be larkspur, Captain," JARVIS informed him, "They symbolize admiration. The blue ones in particular have connotations of devotion."

Tony willed down the warmth creeping up his neck, reached out to touch one of Steve's flowers in turn. "Yeah, well. I'm not the only one with embarrassing love flowers, what's this one mean?"

"Sunflowers stand for warm regard, happiness, and dedicated love, sir," JARVIS replied.

Steve hummed a little with a pleased smile, stroked his fingers over a new one, one that bloomed right under his fingertips. "What about this pink one here?"

"Sweet peas symbolize bliss," JARVIS said simply.

"Do they now?" Steve leaned a little closer, a few bright blue buds cropping up above his ear. Tony touched one, before sliding his fingers along the back of Steve's neck.

"And that one?"

"An orchid, sir. They symbolize strong romantic desires."

"Sounds about right," Steve murmured, leaning in the last couple inches and closing the gap.

When they rejoined the briefing—which by that point had naturally devolved into an argument about whose flower crown looked best, while Clint seemed to be making nests out of his—everyone stopped short and fell silent. Natasha took one look at their now matching crowns and groaned. Neither of them were sure when exactly it had happened, but at some point after they'd kissed long enough to need to catch their breath, they'd parted and realized their flower gardens had wilted, growing anew into neat, simple crowns. They had three new flowers now, ones JARVIS had been quick to identify: yellow daffodils for new beginnings, daisies for commitment, and red tulips that JARVIS insisted really did symbolize perfect love.

"You two are going to be insufferable." Natasha sighed.

Tony smiled at Steve. "Sounds about right."


	45. Identity porn AU (ish)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's mask really doesn't hide as much as he thinks it does. Warnings: none.

Within half a minute of Steve's first meeting with Tony Stark, Natasha slid into the seat next to him and punched him in the arm.

"Hey, ow," Steve said, more out of habit than anything else, "What was that for?"

"I've offered you every man, woman, and Asgardian I know—"

"You can't offer people, Natasha, they're not—"

"—and you decide to moon after  _him?"_

"—your property, and I'm not 'mooning after' anyone, I was friendly—"

"Mooning," Natasha stated with finality.

"Definitely mooning," Sam agreed, taking the seat on Steve's other side and announcing with mock horror, "And in the SHIELD cafeteria, no less. Have you no decency?"

"We were just being friendly," Steve denied, though he couldn't help glancing over his shoulder in the direction Tony had left.

Tony caught him looking, smirked a little and mouthed,  _call me,_ with a slight nod at the card still in Steve's hand before disappearing out the door. When Steve turned back, Sam bat his eyelashes ridiculously.

"Call me, Stevie. I wanna be  _friendly_ together."

"Shaddup." Steve rolled his eyes. He dropped his gaze to the card, flipped it back over with a small smile. Natasha and Sam could make fun of him all they liked, that Tony guy had been charming and Steve was allowed to be interested. Seventy-five years was a long time, even if he hadn't been conscious for most of it. "I still wouldn't call it mooning, but…I might actually call him."

Natasha and Sam exchanged a glance.

"What?" Steve prompted.

"You do know who that is, right?" Sam glanced at Natasha again. "He reads the news, doesn't he?"

"She's not my keeper, you know," Steve said at the same time Natasha informed Sam, "He has seventeen news apps on his tablet. He's informed."

Steve had known Natasha too long to be surprised she knew the exact number. More importantly, "Who is he? He said his name was Tony."

"Tony Stark's the former CEO of StarkIndustries," Natasha told him, "He's an engineering genius, consults with us every other Thursday."

"He also went through a very public, very nasty break-up with his girl a couple months back," Sam reported, "Just last week the Daily Bugle said he wants the company now just to spite her."

Steve frowned. "Oh."

"The Daily Bugle is trash." Natasha rolled her eyes. "I did Stark's initial observation, vindictive isn't one of his flaws. Instability and inability to communicate certainly are though."

Steve fiddled with the card. His initial hopes felt silly now, somewhat…dampened. Not that he didn't have plenty of baggage and less attractive flaws of his own, because of course he did, but he supposed he'd let himself get swept up for a minute there. He'd liked the idea of the charming stranger who'd sat next to him, how he'd talked with his hands and laughed even at Steve's driest jokes and gone on and on about his ridiculous conspiracy theory for why the SHIELD cafeteria food was so bland. He'd been animated and funny and clearly interested, all without having the slightest idea who Steve really was; he'd called him 'Agent Rogers', after all.

But Steve was busy with the Avengers Initiative, anyway, too busy for dating no matter how hard Natasha tried to push it on him. And if anything came of it he'd have to keep his Captain America identity a secret, not to mention pretty much all of his past, which didn't exactly leave him a whole lot of options that weren't lies. Probably better for everyone if he just didn't call. Steve told himself he wasn't disappointed when he threw the card out with the rest of his lunch.

He shouldn't have been surprised when Tony sat next to him next Thursday.

Tony didn't ask why he never called, just started in about the cafeteria food again like their last conversation had never ended. As he went on about how it was his new mission in life to find something,  _anything_ here that had some semblance of a taste, Steve found himself slipping back into conversation—into infatuation, really—without a second thought. An hour passed in the blink of an eye, both their food went almost entirely untouched, and by the time Tony swore under his breath at his phone and told Steve regretfully that he had to get back to the labs, Steve couldn't help wishing he'd kept the card.

He gave in and googled Tony that night. The results were less than satisfying. Steve told himself it was for the best, he should've curbed his interest that first week anyway. It sounded less believable the second time around.

Three Thursdays and Tony knew immediately that Steve had googled him. He laughed it off, admitting readily that it was mostly true but that it was also mostly behind him. The rumors of nastiness between him and Pepper were also unfounded; they were still good friends and he wouldn't dream of taking the company from her. They'd just had a patch when it'd been hard to be around each other, and the media had felt like that was the best time to flash the spotlight. He said it glibly, like a joke, but Steve remembered an article about Tony's parents' death and how the accompanying picture had been of a clearly grieving seventeen-year-old viciously shoving a camera out of his face barely a few yards from the cemetery, and thought it was probably anything but. Instead of being properly curbed, his infatuation with Tony only grew.

Five Thursdays and  _it'd be for the best if you curbed this now_ might as well have been carved inside Steve's head for all the times he'd thought it. Didn't stop him from meeting Tony every Thursday like clockwork though, nor from plying Tony's number out of Natasha—he owed her a favor now, and the tone she'd used had been slightly worrying, but he could sort that out later—and staring at it for roughly an hour before shoving it in a drawer and trying to forget about it because it would _really_  be for the best if he curbed this now.

Seven Thursdays and Steve had turned the slip of paper Natasha had written Tony's number on over in his hands so many times the ink was beginning to smudge.

Nine Thursdays and Steve missed their lunch because he was busy getting stabbed by AIM agents in Ecuador. He returned on a Saturday, but Tony somehow found out and showed up in medical anyway, stayed with him for two days and was pretty much the single reason Steve didn't lose his mind from boredom.

The day Steve was released—technically AMA, but he was  _fine,_ honestly—he filed a request for Tony's clearance be upped to include Avengers business on the citation that the Avengers could use technical guidance. The agent in charge of Avengers affairs, well-versed in bullshit, didn't even pretend to listen Steve's case.

"Mr. Stark has all the clearance he requires for the projects he's been assigned to."

"Right, general projects, I know. But I'm saying he could do things like upgrade Agent Romanoff's bites, or Agent Barton's arrows—"

"We have plenty of good minds working on Avengers weapons, Captain." The agent put Steve's written request in a tray Steve knew full well might as well have been labeled trash. "But your request will be taken under advisement."

Steve would be more upset if he'd had any sort of valid claim, but given that his interests were self-directed and his report mostly bullshit, it was probably better that he didn't waste his energy arguing.

It'd be better spent going above the agent's head, anyway.

Unfortunately, both Maria Hill  _and_ Nick Fury seemed even less interested in Steve's attempts to draw Tony into the Avengers circle, and Steve was kicked out of each of their offices within minutes. Fury had even laughed.

Twelve Thursdays and Steve was ten minutes out of a post-mission debrief, half-walking half-jogging towards the locker room so he could shower up and change in time for their lunch meeting. Almost there, he bumped into Tony while still wearing full Captain America regalia. Caught completely off guard, he stumbled back a little and opened his mouth twice before managing to make sound come out.

"Mr. Stark, hi." He stuck out a hand, stiff and awkward and all too aware of it. "I'm Captain Rogers, it's good to—wait, that's not—Steve America, I mean. Oh, God, no, I mean Captain America, I'm Captain America, that isn't—I shouldn't have—shit—"

Tony clasped his hand, put him out of his misery with a laugh. "Yeah…you know I can see your eyes and about half your face, right? Who exactly is that get-up supposed to fool?"

"Well." Steve swallowed. Tony hadn't released his hand yet and Steve wasn't inclined to either. "Everyone, in theory. You're, uh. You're taking the news that I'm a superhero really well."

Tony's eyebrows jumped a little, amusement in his eyes. "Steve, somewhere between your ridiculously chiseled jaw and the fact that you and 'Captain America' are the only two people I know built like a Dorito, I sort of put two and two together."

"Oh." Tony still hadn't released his hand. Steve wanted to use it to pull Tony in and finally,  _finally_  kiss him, but his life wasn't a rom-com and they were still standing the middle of a crowded SHIELD hallway where there were cameras and people passing through and—

"So I'm gonna take a chance here," Tony said, cutting through Steve's thoughts, "And assume maybe that's why you never called me?"

"I thought I'd be stuck lying to you all the time, it seemed like maybe it'd be for the best if I just…didn't." God, the line sounded so much stupider when he said it out loud. He took a chance of his own, admitted honestly, "I wanted to, though. I really…I wanted to."

"Well." Tony squeezed his hand. They were basically just holding hands at this point, considering there was no actual shaking involved and they'd gone  _well_  past the standard three to five second mark. Steve was in no way complaining. "Here's a novel idea. Why don't you trust I'll keep your secret, and I'll let you in on one of mine?"

"Oh?"

Tony nodded with a smile, tipped his head in the direction of the hall. "Follow me."

Steve very narrowly stopped himself from saying  _anywhere._ "Sure."

Tony led him towards the maintenance rooms. Steve couldn't help the thought that maybe Tony didn't have anything to confide in him, that maybe Tony was just taking him somewhere they could be alone. He probably shouldn't be as excited about that as he was. The maintenance rooms were one of the few places SHIELD didn't have any surveillance, if Tony wanted they could—wait, there was only one thing down this particular hallway—

"How do you know where…" Steve question drifted to a halt as Tony punched in a few numbers and Iron Man's storage case opened up. That was—he'd only have those codes if— "You're  _Iron Man?"_

"What do you think, winghead?" Tony grinned, clearly pleased to have surprised him. Winghead, that was—Iron Man called him that all the time, because Iron Man was _Tony_ and all Steve could think was—

"I asked Fury to turn an Avenger into an IT guy." Steve groaned. "No wonder he laughed at me."

"You wanted me to be your IT guy?" Tony looked oddly flattered, considering Steve had basically tried to get him demoted.

"I wanted to be able to tell you." Steve waved a hand at his cowl vaguely before tugging it down. Officially unmasked himself, for all that it was entirely unnecessary. "Who I am, all of it."

"What for?" Tony stepped a little closer into Steve's space, like he knew the answer and just wanted to hear it out loud.

Now or never, then. Steve leaned in, got a hand around Tony's waist to pull him in. "So I could do this."

Tony met him more than halfway, kissed him almost before he even finished speaking.


	46. Steve gets sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even supersoldiers have their off days. Warnings: none.

Steve had always thought the serum made his immunity perfect. It was a fair assumption, after all; it'd fixed everything else about him and he hadn't gotten sick once since. Which was a feat in and of itself, considering how often he'd gotten sick as a child. He could only ever remember wanting to feel better, to be more capable, to not be such a burden, and nowadays he was the peak of health.

So why did he feel so damn awful?

He burrowed his face into the pillow, tried to block out the light. His head hurt and his eyes felt sore and everything was accompanied by an all-over sort of ache he hadn't felt in decades. It felt like a cold, like the really bad ones he used to get that were compounded by his generally poor health, but that was impossible. Wasn't it? He was pretty sure…

Feeling miserable anyway, he rolled up onto his side and got an arm around the still sleeping Tony for a little comfort. It only took a moment or two for Tony to wake up with a grunt of complaint and wiggle out from under him.

"Jesus," Tony muttered, sticking his foot in Steve's side to nudge him away, "You're like a hundred degrees, get off."

Steve meant to say something in response, but all that came out of his mouth was a low sort of whine. Embarrassed now and a little hurt at being pushed away, he tugged the pillow over his head and planted his face in the mattress where at least it was dark and cool. Ugh. Why was the light so bright in here, anyway?

"Wait." Steve couldn't see him anymore, but he could feel Tony prop himself up next to Steve. His voice was still sleepy, but he seemed to be waking up. "The room's temp controlled, why're you a billion degrees?"

"Dunno," Steve muttered into the mattress. Tony rolled closer, stuck a hand against the back of Steve's neck.

"You're sweating, too…hey, move the pillow, talk to me."

Steve didn't move. He knew he was being ridiculous, that if he was really that hot it was perfectly reasonable for Tony not to want Steve plastered all over him. Usually Steve wouldn't think twice about it. Today, he wasn't feeling particularly reasonable. Tony didn't say anything, just rubbed his hand along Steve's back in slow, coaxing movements. Finally, Steve gave in and rolled over, letting the pillow flop to the side. Any more movement felt like far too much effort. God, it was  _bright._ 6am should not be this bright, the sun should barely be coming up and—

"Time's it?" He tilted his head up a little to glance at the clock. "It's  _eight?"_

He never slept past six. What was wrong with him?

"Hey, relax." Tony moved closer, pressed the back of his hand to Steve's forehead. "Everyone oversleeps sometimes."

"I was gonna run with Sam at—"

"That's probably not a good idea today." Tony moved his hand, stroked his thumb over Steve's cheek before dropping it. "I'm pretty sure you're sick, Steve."

"But if I leave now I can still beat him," Steve tried. Tony laughed.

"I'm sure you could. But I think maybe you should stay in bed today, Sam'll understand."

"I can't get sick, it's probably just in my head," Steve protested, trying to sit up. Tony gently pushed him back down. Steve could probably resist, but that felt like so much effort. "The serum was supposed to make me immune."

"I thought so too, but immunobiology isn't really my area," Tony admitted, "I'll talk to Bruce and see if he's got any theories, but between the furnace you've turned into and the oversleeping, I'm betting on sick. How do you feel, otherwise?"

"Fine," Steve lied. Tony, not fooled in the slightest, just raised both eyebrows expectantly. "My head hurts a  _little,_ but it's—"

"Your head hurts." Tony stroked a hand softly over his forehead, brushing his hair back. "And?"

"And—and I guess everything's a little bright," Steve muttered, "But that's all, it's not—"

"JARVIS, black out the windows and turn the lights on dim," Tony instructed to JARVIS, who complied immediately. "How about I make breakfast today, huh?"

"Please don't make me stomach one of your omelets."

"Okay, first, rude." Tony flicked his forehead. "Second, I'm making waffles, so there."

"Waffles sound good," Steve admitted. Even Tony could usually manage waffles. "With—"

"Strawberries and whipped cream, obviously." Tony leaned in, kissed his nose. "Hard as it is to believe, I do actually know a few things about you."

"Just a few." Steve smiled.

"The important things, at any rate." Tony pushed back the covers, got out of bed. "Waffle toppings. Pie fillings."

"Popcorn preferences."

"Pizza choices."

"Taco contents."

"All the important food combinations." Tony leaned over the bed to kiss him.

"Don't." Steve turned his head away. "I don't want you to catch anything."

Tony kissed the side of Steve's face instead. "Fair enough. I'll be back soon, get some more sleep if you can."

"I've had plenty of sleep," Steve muttered, tried to push the sheets off. Besides, he wasn't an invalid, Tony shouldn't have to take care of him like this. "I'll come with you, I—"

"Nope." Tony wrestled the sheets from Steve's hands, tucked them back over him decisively. "I can't say I know much about how to treat sick people, but even I know you're supposed to rest up. Give it a half hour, let me make you some waffles. Have we ever had breakfast in bed?"

"I don't think so, but—"

"I'll stay home from work, we'll eat waffles in bed and…I don't know, do whatever it is sick people do. Hang out a while. Call it a day off, haven't have one of those in a while."

"I don't think superheroes get days off," Steve pointed out.

"Really? Because I hear we get  _extra_ days off," Tony disagreed, "Since we don't get any hazard pay, it seems only fair."

"Oh, no." Steve sat up, the mention of hazards inspiring worries about supervillains and calls to duty and— "What if—"

"Ah!" Tony clapped a hand over his mouth. "Ah ah ah, don't say it, if you say it you'll just be daring the universe. No 'what ifs', we're just going to take a day off and relax a little and nothing's going to go wrong at all. Okay?" Steve nodded, smiling behind Tony's palm. "Okay, good, square deal."

Tony kissed the back of his own hand, where Steve's mouth would be if his hand weren't in the way. When Tony started to pull his hand back, Steve caught it and kissed Tony's palm. "Square deal."

* * *

Five waffles, two bottles of water, and a couple google searches to the extent of 'how to take care of a sick person', and Tony was roughly 70% prepared to take care of his sick supersoldier. The other 30% relied on Bruce texting him back. Because though the evidence this morning was pretty obvious, Tony had previously been fairly sure Steve couldn't get sick either. He never had before, anyway.

Tony's phone beeped.

_Describe sick_

_High body temp, sweating, headache, sunlight = too bright_

_Sounds like the common cold to me. Problem?_

_Shouldn't supersoldiers be immune to that sort of thing?_

_Not necessarily. His immune system will adapt to it faster, but if it's a strain he hasn't encountered before he's just as likely to catch it as any of us. He'll probably feel much worse and then much better within about 24 hours_

_What do I do?_

_Keep him away from the rest of us_

_Hilarious_

_The normal stuff— lots of water, eat something, maybe get a cold compress, sleep as much as possible. Hot shower will be good if he gets congested_

_Sexy_

_The glamorous life of domestic superheroes_

Tony tucked his phone back in his pocket, hefted the stack of waffles in one hand and snagged the bottles of water with the other. He could totally do this. Maybe he hadn't ever actually taken care of a sick person before, but he'd been sick. At least once or twice. He couldn't really remember any specifics, but that wasn't the point. Between google and Bruce, Tony could probably make up for the fact that he had no experience and a grand total of zero nurturing instincts.

Probably.

Tony managed to open the bedroom door with his elbow, a feat in and of itself, and slip inside. Steve was sitting up and fiddling with something on his tablet. Reading the news, looked like.

"I thought you said your eyes hurt." Tony put the waffle plate and water bottles on the side table, peered over Steve's shoulder to get a better look. News, just like he'd thought.

"They'll adjust," Steve said, stubborn as ever, "I don't want to miss anything."

"If there's anything important, JARVIS will tell us," Tony pointed out, scooting into bed with Steve and tugging the tablet out of his reluctant grasp. "You know I'm the last person to swear off electronics, but even I know a day in bed doesn't mean a day spent obsessively worrying over everything you're missing. The world will continue to turn for a day without Captain America monitoring it, I promise."

Steve gave him a flat look. "And if you were the sick one?"

"I'd be sneaking the tablet too," Tony acknowledged with a grin.

"Did you talk to Bruce?"

"He says that as far as he understands it you're just as likely to get sick as us, your system just processes it faster. Said you should feel better within the day."

"That's good." Steve looked relieved at that. Knowing that he'd only be out of commission a day or two probably helped. Tony knew Steve had spent pretty much his entire childhood like this, that he probably didn't relish the idea of even a temporary return to it.

"Hey." Tony cuddled up to him, bumped their elbows together companionably. "You deserve a day off, Steve."

Steve smiled a little, but it seemed thinner than usual. "Sure."

"Don't 'sure' me." Tony poked him, reached over to pick up the waffles and offer them to Steve. "I mean it. You work hard, you've earned a sick day."

"I just…" Steve chewed on his lip for a moment, looking at the waffles. "Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the waffles but I don't need—"

"To be taken care of?" Tony pushed the waffles forward. "Sure, probably not. Even us non-supers can tackle the occasional cold. But who says I can't take this rare opportunity to spoil you a little? If you won't even let me do it when you're sick, I may never get the chance at all."

"What a tragedy." Steve rolled his eyes, but Tony could see the smile he was trying to hide.

"It  _is_ a tragedy." Tony put the plate in Steve's hands, ripped off a piece and offered it up. Steve's eyebrows jumped.

"Why're you feeding me?"

"Most people would find it romantic."

"You forgot utensils, didn't you?"

"It's possible." Tony offered the chunk of waffle up again. Steve took it this time. "But let's pretend I'm just being cute."

"You're always cute," Steve told him through a mouthful of waffle.

"By which you mean sexy, obviously," Tony corrected, "Handsome is also acceptable."

"Nope. Definitely cute. Adorable is also acceptable."

"You're hopeless," Tony informed him, "And stop talking with your mouth full. I swear, for a supposed paragon of perfection, you have the worst table manners of anyone I know."

"Oh, well, you know, table manners were huge in 30's Brooklyn. One of the first things I learned after walking and talking was how to tell a salad fork from a soup fork."

"A soup fork, Steve? Really?"

"Maybe they existed in the 30's, you can't know for sure."

"Whatever you say, weirdo." Tony kissed his cheek, ripped off some more waffle. "Here. No forks required."

"You keep kissing me, you're gonna get sick," Steve pointed out, though he didn't actually move any farther away. Steve was a cuddly guy to begin with, it wasn't hard to imagine he'd be even more so when he wasn't feeling well. Feeling extra awful for kicking the big guy away that morning, Tony cuddled closer and ripped up more waffle for him.

"I haven't had a cold in at least five years, I'm probably due anyway." Tony shrugged.

"If you're sure." For all his talk, Steve looked relieved as he dropped his head against Tony's shoulder.

"Yeah, honey." Tony scooped a couple extra strawberries onto the waffle bite this time. "I'm sure."


	47. Tony defaces government property (i.e. Steve)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of all the (many, many) papers Tony's been served, this is the best. Warnings: none.

"Look, if this is about the jet-fueled roller skates incident, that wasn't technically my fault." Tony sighed, taking the legal papers from the short straw agent sent to deal with him. He flipped through them for anything outstanding. "I mean, I invented them, obviously, but I'm not responsible for any idiotic stunts Sam pulls while in them. I guess I'm technically responsible for daring him to do an axel flip from one quinjet to another, but he had the wings on so it's not like he was in any real danger. He was the one who took me up on it and Clint's the one who crashed the damn jet, so they're the ones you should be hounding."

"That's…someone should talk to you about that too." The agent frowned, pushed his glasses up a little. "But that's not—"

"Yeah, I know, they're not billionaires, whatever," Tony muttered, flipping a page. Blah blah blah,  _damage of government property_ , blah blah blah,  _marks above the collar are prohibited and the creation of one is defacement of_ —wait, what? "What's this about collars?"

"You're being fined for the defacement of government properly," The agent informed him all too seriously, "Specifically, the marking of Commander Rogers above the collar."

"The what? I didn't—" Tony cut himself off as the memory of that morning came to mind. "Wait, you're fining me for giving Steve a hickey?"

"In layman's terms, yes."

"In layman's—seriously?" Tony flipped through the pages again incredulously.

"Yes. You have sixty days to—"

"How much for another one?"

The agent visibly stumbled. "What?"

"Is it a fixed cost, or does it increase every time?" Tony flipped to page three, checked for a pricing model.

"Most people just…stop, sir."

"Most people aren't billionaires with exceptionally hot boyfriends." Tony winked at the kid, just to make him squirm. "So how much for another one? And is it one price if I give him a couple at a time, or am I charged for each mark?"

"Uh—"

"Either way I should probably give you my Amex, you can keep it on file instead of coming back each time."

"I don't really think we're set up for that, sir—"

"Relax, I'm not your superior officer, you don't have to 'sir' me—"

"Sir," JARVIS, the smug little bastard, announced, "You have a call from Commander Rogers."

"Right, hold that thought." Tony held up a hand to the agent, pulled out his cell to take the call. "Steve?"

"Coulson's messing with you."

"What?"

"One of his agents is coming down to deliver papers to you about 'defacing' me, but I'm not government property and—" Steve sounded like he was winding up for one of his big liberty speeches, so Tony cut him off.

"Yeah, I've got it right here. I'm asking the agent about pricing models now, but even at an increasing price it'd be a while before we'd have to actually consider marking you in other…" Tony dropped his voice to low and seductive, mostly to watch the agent go tomato red. "More  _interesting_ places…"

"The agent's still standing there, isn't he?"

Tony grinned, winked at the agent again. "And totally traumatized, yeah."

"Ask him if you can get a two for one deal if they're on the same day," Steve suggested.

"Way ahead of you, babe." Tony tugged his wallet out of his back pocket.


	48. Mistletoe blurb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, Clint was only trying to be helpful. Warnings: none.

The first time Steve and Tony got caught under the mistletoe, it was less by chance and more because Clint had strategically placed it over their favorite spot on the couch. They each claimed a laundry list of bullshit reasons for why they preferred those particular spots, but Clint saw the way they always wound up closer by the end of movies, the way they’d drape a blanket over themselves because it was “cold” in the temperature-controlled room and huddle together for “warmth”. Clint didn’t need to be a master spy to know bad lies when he heard them. He’d been orchestrating romantic moments for them for months in attempts to get them together, but to no avail.

He’d said he’d won tickets to events—he technically bought them, but he used Stark’s credit card so at least he wasn’t out real money—and pretended he’d been unable to use them, asked Steve or Tony to take them off his hands. They inevitably would, and they’d inevitably invite the other, but it was always as “friends” no matter how clearly they both wanted it to be otherwise. He’d borrowed Steve’s computer and left the browser open to particularly obvious photos, the kind that popped up in social media with tags like “stevetony” and “iron captain” and, Clint’s personal favorite, “superheroes in superlove”. He’d borrowed Tony’s and left it open to parody porn of them doing it, because Tony seemed like the kind of guy who needed more obvious hints. Also, the fact that parody porn existed of them doing it was something that needed sharing and Natasha had ruined Clint’s fun by enjoying it way too much.

All the trouble Clint went to for them, and nothing in return. They still stared at each other hopelessly, each trying pathetically hard not to get caught and totally failing. They still got all up in each other’s personal space, drifting closer whenever they forgot not to and talking in that strange, super obvious we-have-an-inside-joke-everyone-else-is-missing kind of way and touching at every possible opportunity, because god forbid anyone else hand Steve his mug and not do that weird as hell slide-and-caress handoff thing Tony always had to do. Not to mention the disturbingly sexual wrestling matches for the remote and the way they always had to direct most of their conversation at the other, unsubtly trying to impress each other or gain attention or whatever else.

It was awful, but between the lack of rent and endless food—not to mention the wifi speed, oh god, the wifi speed—Clint would put up with a lot worse. Plus, he’d already sunk three months’ effort into matchmaking and he’d bet Sam and Natasha he could get them together by Christmas, so at this point it was make or break. That meant it was time to bring out the big guns.

Come December 1st, Clint had mistletoe prepped and ready. He set it up when no one was around, made sure it was up high and cut short so neither Steve nor Tony would see it before getting caught under it. He bided his time through breakfast and morning training, through Tony’s time at work and Steve’s central park circuit with Sam. Finally, come mid-afternoon, Clint was able to talk them into a Die Hard viewing to celebrate the beginning of the Christmas season. Once everyone settled on the couch—Steve and Tony pressed side to side like always, blanket over themselves for “warmth” like Steve didn’t run a hundred degrees and the room wasn’t temp-controlled to begin with—Clint paused the movie.

“Who let Clint have the remote again?” Natasha sighed.

“Hey, I was just going to—”

“We do not require commentary, Clint.” Thor gestured for the remote.

“No, I’m keeping the remote, I just have one thing to—”

“Then say it.” Bruce made a hurry-along sort of hand wave.

“When did you all get so impatient, huh?”

“Around the fifteenth time you paused The Bourne Legacy to insist that you looked ‘exactly like’ Jeremy Renner,” Sam muttered.

“Well that’s—okay, I _do_ look exactly like Jeremy Renner, maybe more handsome but that’s not the point, the point is that Steve and Tony are under mistletoe.”

“What?” Steve’s head jerked up at his name; he’d been staring at Tony again. They needed Clint’s help so badly, and they didn’t even know it.

“Mistletoe.” Clint waved the remote at the sprig above their heads. “Don’t tell me they didn’t have mistletoe in the forties.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. “We had mistletoe, Clint.”

“It’s barely December.” Tony craned his head to squint at it. “What the hell is mistletoe doing up?”

“Tis the season,” Clint sing-songed.

Tony snorted. “Tis _barely_ the season.”

“Can’t ignore tradition.” Clint pursed his lips. “Pucker up, Stark.”

“No way out of this one.” Steve was all but grinning, clearly trying to tamp it down and totally failing. Tony glanced at him, a smile tugging at his lips to match.

“Seems like it.”

“Kiss already.” Natasha flicked popcorn at them. “I want to watch the movie.”

“Well.” Steve tipped his chin up a little, a gesture to the mistletoe. “If we have to.”

“If we have to,” Tony echoed, leaning in a little closer.

Clint expected an awkward, stutteringly slow approach and a brief peck; instead, smooth and sure, Steve slid a hand along Tony’s jaw like a caress before cupping the back of his neck and drawing him in. Tony went more than willingly, meeting Steve halfway and tucking his hand over Steve’s hip to pull him closer.

“Damn.” Sam’s eyebrows jumped up.

“There.” Tony patted Steve’s cheek, thumb lingering for a momentary stroke or two. “Tradition fulfilled. Satisfied, Clint?”

“Sure, sure…how about you, you satisfied?” Clint stuck out his leg, gave Tony a nudging sort of kick. “Maybe discover a thing or two about yourselves?”

Steve and Tony exchanged a glance as they settled back into place. Steve had his arm propped up on the couch now, conveniently near Tony’s shoulders, while Tony all but curled up in Steve’s lap. Tony shrugged.

“I’m good. Steve, you good?”

Steve shrugged, a goofy, lopsided smile on his face. “Perfect.”

Clint stared at them.

“Can we turn the movie back on please?” Bruce sighed.

“Did you not _see_ that?” Clint waved at Steve and Tony insistently. Was everyone around him blind? No wonder he was their only sharpshooter, his teammates were about as perceptive as rocks. “Come on, you can’t tell me that was normal.”

“They share an enthusiastic bond of friendship.” Thor clapped a hand on Clint’s shoulder. “I would be more than happy to engage with you in a similar show of camaraderie, Clint.”

“What?” Clint jolted away. “God, no, I wasn’t—”

“So that’s why you were so insistent on the mistletoe.” Steve chuckled.

“No, I was trying to—”

“If you wanted a kiss you could’ve just asked.” Tony snickered.

“You guys are assholes,” Clint muttered, “I was trying to do something nice for you, and you just—”

“Are we ever going to watch the movie, or are you just going to go on and on about a little mistletoe kiss?” Sam made to swipe the remote, but Clint ducked out of the way.

“A _little?_ ” Clint insisted.

“It’s tradition, you said so yourself,” Steve pointed out, goofy smile still not at all diminished.

“A peck is tradition, _that_ was something out of a porno—”

Tony snorted. “What kinds of porn are you watching?”

“Okay, maybe not a porno, but still, that was definitely a bedroom kind of kiss—”

“Alright, you’re done,” Natasha decided, snatching the remote away from him and clicking the movie back on.

“What? No, Tasha, come on—”

She just threw popcorn at him. “Shh, watching.”

God, his teammates were assholes.

Clint didn’t relent, though, because assholes or not he knew Steve and Tony would be great pair if they could just manage to get their shit together. He planted even more mistletoe that night, all throughout the team floor, in hopes that maybe it’d just take an extra kiss or two to get them to realize their potential.

Wrong.

At least, at twenty kisses and counting he was wrong, because despite kissing at every doorway and in every hallway, Steve and Tony seemed no closer to admitting their true feelings for each other. It was pathetic, really; they took no convincing to go along with tradition anymore, and the last few times, one of them would see the mistletoe and just go in for a kiss without even telling the other. They were using the mistletoe as an excuse, obviously, but no matter how much Clint prodded and teased and suggested, they both insisted they had nothing to say to each other.

The thirty-second time, Clint caught Steve actually _groping_ Tony, and that was when he knew the whole thing was getting out of hand.

“Oh, come on!” He waved at them. “Really?”

“It’s just a little holiday spirit, Clint, gosh,” Steve told him in that innocent, aw-shucks voice he only used when he thought they were underestimating him.

“You’re seriously blaming the holiday spirit for you getting handsy?”

“Are you suggesting that I was taking… _liberties?_ ” Steve made an exaggeratedly shocked face.

“No, shut up.” Clint rolled his eyes. “I’ve played Cards Against Humanity with you, I will never again buy your aw-shucks act. I’m saying doesn’t the fact that you’re both really enthusiastic about this mistletoe thing maybe _slightly_ hint to you that you might, I don’t know, actually like each other?”

“Of course we like each other.” Tony shrugged, only the smallest hint of a smirk giving him away. “We’re very good friends, Clint, you know that.”

“Good friends with lots of holiday spirit,” Steve added. Tony’s shoulders hitched a little and his grin ticked up, and it took Clint a minute to realize Steve had gone and groped him again.

“I fucking give up, man.” Clint threw his hands up. “Have fun being oblivious idiots, seriously, you deserve each other, you really do.”

He turned and left the room in a storm, only to get about halfway down the hall and realize he’d left his phone. It made his dramatic exit a little less awesome, but he needed to call Natasha to complain about what ridiculous fucking idiots Steve and Tony were so he went back to get it. Only to find them kissing, _again_ , at least a foot away from the mistletoe.

“Oh come on, you’re not even under mistletoe this time!” Clint exclaimed. They jolted apart at the sound of his voice, though Steve’s hands didn’t actually move from Tony’s waist.

They stared at him for a long moment, then at each other, before they started to laugh. Not giggle or snicker or anything small, but full body, grab-each-other-to-stay-standing laughter, like Clint had just told the funniest joke they’d ever heard. They laughed and laughed until Clint flipped them the bird and started to leave, at which point they tried to catch their breath and called for him to come back.

“We’re dating, oh my god, we’re dating, I can’t even—you really thought—” Tony dissolved into laughter again.

“You’re— _what?”_

“We told everyone else months ago, but you weren’t around.” Steve shrugged, trying and failing to tamp down on his laughter. “So they all took bets on how long we could keep you going.”

“Bruce is going to be so pissed we didn’t make it until New Years.” Tony nudged Steve with his elbow. “We should tell him in his lab, it’s got a high ceiling and reinforced flooring.”

“You’re dating,” Clint repeated dumbly, because _what the hell?_ “For how long?”

“Seven months.” Steve smiled at Tony, that stupid smile Clint had seen a hundred thousand times and assumed it was because he was just happy with his little crush. Except it wasn’t a crush, it was full-blown relationship bliss and those jerks just hadn’t clued him in. “Going on eight.”

“But—I’ve been—you sleep in separate bedrooms, you come to breakfast at different times, you—”

“I’m up before you.” Steve shrugged. “I run early then meet the team in the kitchen, you don’t know what room I came from. And Tony sleeps late.”

“By which he means I get up at normal-person hours.” Tony rolled his eyes.

“I can’t believe you actually had me going.” Clint rubbed a hand over his face. “You absolute fuckers. Seven months. For _seven months_ I’ve been giving you tickets to shit and pushing you to go on dates and leaving suggestions on your computers—”

“Those positions aren’t actually very comfortable,” Steve informed him.

“You tried—?” Clint quickly shook his head, tried to will away the images. “Ew, no, god, why would you tell me that, I can _never un-know that—”_

“You’re the one who thought we’d be good together.” Tony shrugged, shot him an irritatingly smug little smirk. “Aren’t you just so happy to be right?”

“If it weren’t for the spectacular wifi, I’d move out in a heartbeat,” Clint grumbled.

“There’s also free food,” Steve pointed out.

“And free rent,” Tony agreed.

“All your friends live here.”

“Who happen to be your teammates, very convenient.”

“I fucking hate you guys,” Clint muttered, snatching his cell phone off the table and storming out again. See if he ever tried to do anything nice for them again.

The last thing he heard was Tony snickering to Steve, “They grow up so fast”, then their obnoxious laughter following him down the hallway.


	49. New Years blurb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's New Years' Eve, and Steve's got plans. Warnings: none.

Tony had been kind of surprised when Steve had told him he wanted to go to Times Square for New Years Eve. He understood how it might sound appealing in theory, but he’d gone once before when he was younger and even back then he’d found it crowded and loud and everything Steve typically hated. He’d pointed this out, but Steve had insisted that they’d have a good time, so Tony had conceded and bought them tickets. New York was a great city, in that sense; no one gave a damn about a couple superheroes squished in amongst the masses. They managed to maneuver through the crowd, Steve surprisingly willing to using his bulk to nudge them through and get them to the front. Usually crowds were when he’d hunch his shoulders in, move with the flow and try his best not to touch anyone, all too aware of his strength and size. Tonight seemed to be an exception. Steve shielded Tony through the crowd like a bodyguard, huddled over him with a hand on his back, urging him forward to front and center.

“There it is.” Steve tipped his head back to look up at the ball once they’d reached the gates. Judging by its height, they still had at least another ten or fifteen minutes to go. He glanced back down at Tony. “Are you warm enough?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Tony smiled amicably. He was cold to the bone, there were at least five too many people touching him, and he could barely hear Steve over the riotous noise, but Steve seemed so pleased that the last thing Tony wanted to do was spoil it for him by complaining.

Steve huffed disbelievingly, breath turning to white mist in the frosty weather. He stepped around and came up behind Tony, wrapping both arms snugly around him and resting his chin on Tony’s shoulder. “Okay, it’s a little colder than I thought, but I promise it’s going to be worth it.”

Yeah, this wasn’t exactly what Tony had planned on for New Years. He’d been thinking more along the lines of pizza and beer, hanging out with everyone by the warm fire in the rec room, watching the ball drop on TV, stealing more than a few midnight kisses and getting carried away to bed soon after. Steve was usually the first to suggest they keep things low-key so Tony had sort of assumed they would be on the same page about tonight, but Steve was always putting up with Tony’s overboard dates and ridiculous gift ideas and everything else so it was the least Tony could do to not complain through one maybe not totally awesome date. Besides, it wasn’t as if there was really any such thing as a bad date with Steve.

Tony leaned back into his arms a little and Steve nuzzled closer too, kissed his cheek like he knew exactly what Tony was thinking. Honestly, Steve could read him so well that he probably did. “Thank you, Tony.”

“You’d better thank me,” Tony told him, “Being with you is such a hardship, y’know. I can hardly stand it.”

Steve laughed, soft and quiet in contrast to the unruly crowd. “Six years is a long time to be with someone you can hardly stand.”

“Six years is a long time to be with anyone,” Tony pointed out, a little more gravity in his tone than he intended.

People didn’t tend to stick around, he knew that better than most. He’d never expected Steve to last so much as a month with him, much less a year, or six. He’d thought they’d fight too much and too hard, thought they’d break each other down or simply wear themselves out. And they had fought, no question about it. Still did, more often than either of them liked, but they’d learned better habits. They listened better now, heard each other out instead of shouting each other down, considered each other’s different perspectives instead of immediately assuming the worst. Tony wasn’t sure how much longer the universe would let him keep Steve, but he’d stopped assuming Steve already had one foot out the door. What they had was solid. He trusted it.

“Blink of an eye,” Steve disagreed. It took Tony a moment to remember what they were talking about.

“Six years is the blink of an eye?” Tony laughed a little, teased him, “To a centenarian, maybe. To us young folk, six years is kind of significant.”

“It’s pretty significant to us centenarians, too.” Steve smiled, words low and soft and right by Tony’s ear, only for him. “Just saying that it’s a drop in the hat compared to how long I want to be with you.”

It wasn’t the first time Steve had said something similar, but the way the words made Tony feel still reminded him of the first time he’d changed the arc reactor; a stutter, a stop, a reboot. He squeezed Steve’s hand. “You’re such a sap, Rogers.”

Steve hummed, undiscouraged as per usual by Tony’s less than romantic replies. They both knew what he meant to say. “Maybe. Have you given it any thought?”

“Given what any thought?”

Tony felt Steve shrug loosely. “Us. The future. You know, just…how long you think we might—”

“There’s sappy, and then there’s just stupid.” Tony turned in Steve’s arms to interrupt him, stretching up to give him a kiss. “I’m selfish, remember? I want you as long as I can have you.”

Steve laughed against his lips before sliding a hand along his jaw, pulling him back in and kissing him again. “Just checking.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Tony snorted a little, but leaned in until their foreheads touched. “Love you, though.”

“Love you too.” Steve smiled. Around them, people started counting down.

_Ten!_

“Been a pretty good year, don’t you think?”

_Nine!_

“Sure, sure,” Steve agreed. “But next year’s going to be even better.”

_Eight!_

“You sound nice and sure.” Tony chuckled.

_Seven!_

“Kinda am, yeah.” Steve grinned, a little cocky.

_Six!_

“Got something up your sleeve?”

_Five!_

“Sure do.”

_Four!_

“Care to share with the class?”

_Three!_

“Nope.”

_Two!_

“What? Come on, you can’t just—”

Steve cut him off with a kiss just before _one!_ , tightening the hand he still had around Tony’s waist to hold him close. Tony smacked his chest, rebuke for taking the easy way out of the question, then dug his hands into Steve’s shirtfront to keep him near. They swayed a little as the crowd whooped and cheered, but didn’t part until long after.

“Always have to do that, huh?” Tony smiled against Steve’s mouth, felt him chuckle in return.

“Kissed you right into next year,” Steve told him like he did every year, smug and silly, Tony’s favorite dork.

“Sure did.” Tony moved his hand up, rubbed his thumb over Steve’s cheek. “Weirdo.”

“Hey there, cuties!” The reporter cut into their conversation, leaning up against the gate and waving the microphone towards them. She’d clearly been slipped a glass or two of something nice and warm; she didn’t even seem to recognize them. “Any New Year’s resolutions, lovebirds?”

“Same old same old, keep doing what we’re doing.” Tony subtly slide his hands down and back to his sides, aware of the cameras trained on them and Steve’s preferences regarding PDA.

“Well, I don’t know about same old.” Steve laughed, but there was a strange sort of tone to it. Was Steve nervous?

“Got a new year’s resolution to share with the world there, Steve?” Tony raised his eyebrows, a subtle reference to the camera Steve seemed somehow unaware of.

“I…” Steve swallowed hard, that same odd, somewhat nervous look about him. Then he looked down at Tony, looked at him like there wasn’t anyone else in the entire square if not the world, and the anxiety in his features drained away completely. “Yeah. Yeah, there is. My new year’s resolution is to marry him.”

Steve was on one knee before Tony could fully process what exactly he’d said, digging into his pocket and pulling out a small black box. Instead of parting like they should’ve the crowd just pressed forward, oohing and ahhing and taking hundreds of photos a second, but Tony couldn’t think about that. Tony couldn’t think about anything at all that wasn’t Steve on one knee, ring aloft, a large, near-giddy smile on his face. Tony was pretty sure he gasped or something else ridiculous and cliché, but it was sort of hard to hear over the rush of blood in his ears.

“Steve, what are you—”

“I’m asking you to marry me,” Steve told him, simple and sincere, “Because these past six years with you have been the best of my life, and I want sixty more like them.”

“That’s unrealistic,” Tony managed, choking up on something he would never admit might possibly be tears. Steve didn’t miss a beat.

“I’ll take six days if it’s what you’ll give me.” Steve held the ring up. “Will you marry me, Tony?”

He hauled Steve up and kissed him— _yes, you idiot, god yes_ —threw both arms around his neck and held tight while Steve swept him up off his feet. There was cheering somewhere in the periphery, and they were probably—yeah, okay, _definitely_ still being taped, but none of that mattered. Nothing mattered, nothing except him and Steve and their long, bright future together.

 


	50. Steve really likes skittles (and Tony)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is bored and has a large bag of Skittles. Tony doesn't know what else he expected. Warnings: none.

The first time a Skittle pings off the back of Tony’s head, he doesn’t think a whole lot about it. People throw things at him all the time to get his attention; Pepper throws paperwork—well, tosses really, but Tony still vividly remembers the stapler incident—Clint throws whatever’s most aerodynamic, and Natasha throws whatever’s most valuable because Natasha’s smart and doesn’t like it when people make her wait for their attention. Steve isn’t usually a thrower, mostly because his visits to Tony’s shop are typically just to share company with a friend and not to demand attention, but Tony’s not horribly surprised that Steve wants his attention now. They’ve been down here four hours without saying a word, after all.

Still, there’s a reason for that: Tony’s inches away from finally figuring out the bug in his transistors, and once he figures that out he knows he’ll be able to sleep again. He’s going on something like four nights at this point, punctuated only by brief naps that are taken less by choice and more because he passed out twice on the graphing table and once while on the floor to chase after a roll-away piece. Each time he’d woken tucked up on the couch next to Steve, which was actually a very fantastic way to wake up—Steve, apparently, was a hair petter—but not something Tony could think about just then.

He was _so close._

Five skittles, and Tony realizes Steve’s been saying something other than “pay attention to me”.

“Taste the what?” Tony turns, and the next Skittle bounces off his cheek. Steve doesn’t look even remotely apologetic.

“The rainbow,” Steve clarifies. He digs his hand into the bag, resurfacing with a handful that he pops into his mouth before taking another and flicking it at Tony. It hits by his armpit this time. Steve makes some indistinct noise around his mouthful of Skittles. “Ooh, so close.”

“Where were you aiming?” Tony asks. “And I thought you had perfect aim, what’re you doing slinging around a priceless shield if you don’t have perfect aim?”

“I _have_ perfect aim.” Steve accentuates this by flicking a Skittle at Tony’s forehead this time. “With my priceless shield, that it may surprise you to know actually has different weight distribution than a Skittle.”

“Never would’ve guessed.” Tony snorted, turning back to his schematics. Seconds later, more Skittles bounce off his head. “Did you need something, Steve?”

“I need for you to taste the rainbow,” Steve insists, “C’mon, I’ve been practicing. I bet I could get it in your mouth.”

“That’s what she said,” Tony mutters, because he really is that tired. Then, louder, “Fine, sure, one try.”

“Why is it what she said?” Steve ponders aloud instead of taking his shot, because muttering means nothing in the face of superhearing. “Who’s ‘she’ supposed to be, anyway?”

“It’s simultaneously too early and too late for this.” Tony rubs his forehead.

 

“I'm just saying, I said it, shouldn’t it be that’s what he said?”

“Probably.” Tony waves a hand at his open mouth pointedly with a hint of a smirk. “So are you going to shoot in my mouth, or what?”

Steve laughs. “Dunno, you gonna hold still and take it, or am I gonna have to pin you down?”

There’s a hint of a Brooklyn accent slipping in there, and Tony kind of loves him for it. “I think you’re all talk and no action, spangles.”

“Oh, I can give you action.” Steve grins, rolling a Skittle between his fingers.

“Really? Because I thought you were going to shoot in my mouth, and look at me, talking away, nothing in my mouth.” Tony clacks his teeth twice. “Nope, noth—” A Skittle pings off his cheek, just under his eye. Tony laughs. “Swing and a miss.”

“Double or nothing,” Steve demands immediately.

“Double what? We didn’t even bet.”

“So let’s make one,” Steve decides with a grin. He looks strangely eager about a Skittle bet. “If I can get a Skittle in your mouth, you have to go to bed right now.”

“The transistors—”

“Will still be there to fix in the morning. But if _you_ win, I’ll sit through all three seasons of the original series of Star Trek with you.”

Oh god, Steve’s going right for the gold. Tony has all but begged Steve to watch them with him before, but stupid Sam went and showed him Next Generation, so Steve now operates under the delusional assumption that it’s _better_ and he doesn’t need to watch the original series.

“Deal.”

“Close your eyes.”

“What for?” Tony eyes him suspiciously. “So you can cheat?”

“Captain America would never,” Steve tells him innocently. Tony scoffs.

“Steve Rogers would. Remember Monopoly?” Tony raises an eyebrow. Steve laughs. Tony continues. “And Risk? And Life? And _every_ card game, don’t think I didn’t see you—”

“Only to even the odds,” Steve reasons, still grinning, “You and Bruce count cards, Clint hides aces up his sleeves, Natasha counts cards _and_ hides aces up her sleeves, and I’m pretty sure Thor’s using some kind of Asgardian magic. Cheating _is_ the game.”

“Fair point,” Tony admits, but doesn’t close his eyes.

“C’mon,” Steve coaxes, that weirdly enthusiastic smile back on his face, “Trust me.”

“This is a horrible decision,” Tony mutters, more to himself, but closes his eyes anyway. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

Steve laughs, but doesn’t answer. Tony hears him digging through the bag for a new Skittle, then the shuffle of feet. The sound of footsteps grows to be a little too close; Tony opens his eyes to declare Steve a cheater. He finds Steve about an inch from his face. Without taking his eyes from Tony, Steve slowly and deliberately places the Skittle on his own tongue before closing his mouth and leaning in.

Steve kisses him close-mouthed for a moment, chaste and sweet—though that might be the half a bag of Skittles Steve had eaten in between throwing them at Tony—before he opens his mouth and slips Tony the Skittle. Tony doesn’t get a chance to kiss him back—or suck on his tongue or bite his lip or get a hand on his ass or any of the other five hundred things that immediately, prolifically, and vividly enter Tony’s mind—before Steve withdraws. Steve steps back a little and looks like he’s trying to smirk, but he just comes across as nervous. He doesn’t say anything, clearly waiting for Tony to.

“That’s definitely cheating, which means we’re definitely watching Star Trek,” Tony says after a beat. Steve’s disappointed look seems to imply that he thinks Tony’s trying to awkwardly maneuver his way out of discussing what just happened, so Tony continues, “Which is basically the best first date ever, since it involves amazing space adventures and private, comfortable couches we can pause said amazing space adventures to make out on, so really, I think we both win in the end—”

Steve kisses him again, and this time Tony more than reciprocates.


	51. "For when your otp are assholes" blurbs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based off a set of prompts on tumblr, "for when your otp are assholes". Warnings: none.

**1\. You drive a massive SUV and steal my parking spot all the time and I was just heading out to leave a strongly worded note under your windshield wiper but oh no you’re hot AU**

Steve knows part of the reason he’s so pissed off is because of the car itself. 

People have taken his parking spot before—primarily because it’s not labeled yet, Nick keeps saying he’ll ‘get to it when he fucking gets to it’—and usually Steve doesn’t mind. He catches them as they’re leaving or he leaves a note, politely informing them that the spot is actually reserved. Most people are decent and often even apologetic, and don’t park there again. This guy, though. He’s stolen Steve’s spot a number of times now, sporadically and spread out, which is almost more annoying than if he did it every day because Steve now has no idea when his spot will be taken or not. While Steve might normally try to consider possible extenuating circumstances, the obnoxiously large SUV the guy drives kind of screams ‘my owner is a rich douchebag that thinks he can do whatever he wants’, so Steve’s less inclined to cut him slack.

On his lunch break, he’s pinning a strongly worded note under the windshield wiper when he hears footsteps behind him.

“No solicitors allowed, buddy.”

“It’s not soliciting, I was leaving a—” The rest of it dies on Steve’s tongue as he turns.

Oh no, he’s _hot_.

“Leaving a…?” The guy tilts his chin down a little, examines Steve over the edge of his sunglasses.

He’s got a bit of a smirk, and while it definitely makes him look like an asshole, it doesn’t do anything to detract from how ridiculously hot he is. He’s got dark hair and tan skin, and he’s wearing really nice suit—Steve doesn’t know labels, but he knows enough to know it probably cost more than his last paycheck—that fits him well and accentuates what it’s supposed to. He’s got one hand in his pocket, the other twirling his keys loosely.

“A note,” Steve finishes finally, willing himself to stop being distracted. “This spot is reserved for me, this is the fifth time this month you’ve parked in it. And don’t call me ‘buddy’.”

“I don’t see a sign.” One eyebrow goes up, smirk still annoyingly fixed in place. “Pal.”

Hot or not, Steve kind of hates him already.

“They’re working on it,” he lies. “If you need proof you can take it up with Nicholas Fury, seventeenth floor, office 1703. In the meantime, you still need to park somewhere else, _pal.”_

“Nicky’s your boss?” The guy grins. Steve can’t help making a bit of a face.

“‘Nicky’?”

“Old friend, we—wait, oh no, you’re _Steve_ , aren’t you?” The guy suddenly and inexplicably bursts into laughter. Not a chuckle or two either but loud, deep, _real_ laughter, and Steve finds to his great annoyance that the guy has a really nice laugh. Why did he have to be so damn attractive? “Shit, of course you are, blond hair blue eyes, works under Nick, penchant for righteous indignation…graphic designer, right? Bucky’s friend?”

“Yeah…” Steve answers reluctantly, suddenly wary. Is this guy some friend of Bucky’s? “Do you know him?”

“In a manner of speaking.” The guy shakes his head a little with another chuckle. His smile seems more genuine now, though he’s still got a look like he’s in on some joke Steve isn’t. “I’m Tony, Rhodey’s friend.”

It takes a second to click; Steve groans. Tony starts laughing again.

Two months ago, Bucky caught up with an old friend from his military days, a guy he called Rhodey. Steve’s never met him, but apparently they got to talking about their respective best friends and somehow came to the conclusion that Steve and Rhodey’s friend Tony would hit it off. Bucky hasn’t shut up about it since, despite Steve’s strict no-blind-dates rule after what happened with Kyle, and Emma, and every other terribly boring—or just plain terrible—blind date Bucky has set him up on in the past two decades. But Bucky seemed so sure that this Tony guy was perfect, and pestered Steve to give him “just one, itty bitty little chance” pretty much endlessly for the past two months straight. Steve gave in a few days ago, and Bucky and Rhodey set up a dinner date for them. For tonight.

“Oh, God.” Steve rubs his hands over his eyes.

“Nice to meet you.” Tony grins wider and extends a hand. “I think I’m supposed to be picking you up in about…eight hours or so?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Steve sighs. He can’t even blame Bucky for sending him a weirdo this time, this fuck up’s all on him. Damn it. He’s been kind of looking forward to this one; Bucky says Rhodey talks about Tony like the guy could upgrade the moon if he set his mind to it. “We can tell them we just didn’t hit it off, it’s fine.”

Tony tilts his head a little, gives Steve an intrigued sort of look. “Or we could get lunch.”

“Lunch?” 

“I was heading out to pick up a pizza for the guys.” Tony twirls his keys, gives a little shrug. “We could get a slice, first?”

Steve hesitates a moment, then leans over and plucks the note off Tony’s windshield. “One condition.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“You park in my spot again, I’m gonna leave a hell of a lot more than a note,” Steve warns. He’s more teasing than threatening, and Tony seems to know because he laughs. He really does have a nice laugh.

“Deal.”

Tony does park in his spot again, but after their first date—lunch—rolls into their second—dinner—and their third—dessert at Tony’s place, which includes but is not limited to ice cream that winds up getting left to melt on the counter—Steve’s kind of okay with it. Mostly because they’re carpooling a lot. When they don’t carpool Tony still likes to park there to mess with him, so Steve sits on the hood of Tony’s car after work and waits for him. He tries to be angry, but Tony thinks he’s hot when he’s angry, so they mostly wind up making out in the admittedly roomy backseat of Tony’s obnoxiously large car. 

Like Steve said, he’s kind of okay with it. 

**2\. I’m a barista and you’re the obnoxious customer who comes through and orders a venti macchiato while talking on the phone the whole time so I misspell your name in increasingly creative ways every day AU**

The first time, Steve doesn’t really mind. People talk on the phone while ordering all the time—it’s rude, but it’s mostly manageable, and those customers hardly ever come back. Their shop isn’t like Starbucks, it’s not about test-grouped aesthetic and churning out recognizable drinks as fast as possible; they have a unique and authentic vibe, and their drinks are about quality over quantity, so they take a minute or two longer. Busy types like people who talk on the phone while ordering might stop in once or twice because it’s a convenient stop, but they rarely become regulars.

Tony, for reasons Steve can’t fathom, is different. Tony comes in every morning at opening, then again every three hours on the dot until closing, and every single time he orders while talking on his phone. From what Steve gathers, he works for Stark Industries—high up, too, from the sound of it—which makes sense, because Stark Industries HQ is less than a block from their shop. Steve isn’t sure why he keeps coming back, but he does, and he always wants the same drink: a venti macchiato.

Problem is, a “venti macchiato” isn’t actually a thing—at least, not in their shop. Maybe Starbucks is selling some misnamed drink and confusing people, but a real macchiato is two shots with a little bit of milk over the top, which isn’t even close to enough liquid to fill a venti cup. Also, they don’t have “venti”, they have “large”, but with a Starbucks on every corner these days that’s a common enough mistake and one Steve hears at least a dozen times a day. 

The first time Tony came in, Steve tried to clarify, ask him what he meant by macchiato, but the guy just waved at his phone and repeated _venti macchiato, thanks_ before stuffing a hundred dollar bill in the tip jar. Steve froze and stared, waiting for Tony to realize his mistake and take it back, but he just moved away from the counter, leaving Steve to make a drink that didn’t actually exist. He’d whipped something together, a mishmash of flavors he liked, some steamed milk, and a couple of shots—Tony seemed like the kind of guy who appreciated extra caffeine—and stuck it on the counter. Tony just grabbed it and left, giving Steve no reaction whatsoever, and not even bothering to stop talking into his cell long enough to offer a thank you.

He must’ve liked it though, or at least tolerated it, because he’s been back five times a day every day since. Steve’s been having fun with him—the guy’s a jerk, why not?—misspelling his name in increasingly creative ways. It started when Tony came in sick, nose stuffed to the point that when he unnecessarily told Steve his name for the thousandth time, it sounded like he said ‘Dony’. Steve wrote it on the cup, and ‘Dony’ didn’t seem to notice. He’s been doing it ever since.

**3\. I’m a busy businessperson and my barista keeps misspelling my name in increasingly disrespectful ways, honestly, who does this person think they are AU**

The thing is, the guy makes fantastic coffee.

He’s a jerk who gets uppity with Tony for using his phone—Tony’s trying to run a company here, it’s not like he can just let his calls go to voicemail—and consistently spells Tony’s name wrong—T-O-N-Y, it’s four damn letters, how fucking hard is that?—and Tony could go literally anywhere else, but…

 _Damn,_ the guy makes good coffee.

Tony’s never had a macchiato before, he’s always been more of a straight black type, but Pepper recommended it and after tasting this guy’s version Tony knows he can never go back. The guy’s good-looking, too, muscled and bright-eyed with a nice smile; it’s a good thing he’s a dick or Tony might’ve done something crazy like kidnap him, or propose. 

It’s the _phoney_ one that gets him to finally say something. Don’t get him wrong, he’s realized by this point barista guy’s just fucking around with him—he’s done all sorts of weird shit, _dony_ and _crony_ and _macatoni,_ which Tony personally thinks was pushing the realm of credibility—but he can’t help getting offended anyway. Who does this hipster coffee shop asshole think he is, calling Tony a phony? And spelling it wrong, no less? Just because he makes the ambrosia of coffees doesn’t mean Tony’s not going to call him on his shit.

“Hey, asshole!”

“W-what? I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, it won’t happen again—”

“Not you, Marcus, just—email me your pitch.” Tony hangs up, like he probably should’ve done before he inadvertently called his head marketer an asshole, but whatever, it’s good to keep those guys on their toes. He puts his phone in his pocket and picks up the offending coffee cup. “You think this is funny?”

“Kind of.” Barista guy looks surprised, and to be fair, he’s been calling Tony increasingly disrespectful names for about two weeks now and Tony hasn’t said anything. “So, you _do_ actually know how to hang up your phone?”

“Hilarious, for someone who can’t even spell. There’s no ‘e’ in phony, genius.”

“No, there’s not.” Barista guy kind of looks like he’s trying not to laugh. Fuck him. “But there’s an ‘e’ in phone, as in, ‘rude jerk who never gets off his phone while ordering his drink that doesn’t exist’.”

“They’re important calls,” Tony maintains, making a bit of a face. “What do you mean, drink that doesn’t exist? I’m drinking it right now, I’ve been drinking it for the past two weeks.”

“Yeah…” Barista guy chuckles, leans on the counter. Shield Coffee doesn’t get many customers, Tony’s learned, and the lack of them now means that barista guy can address him directly. “We don’t sell ‘ventis’, and a macchiato is two shots with a little bit of milk so you can’t really make a large of that. I don’t know what you think a venti macchiato is, but it’s not what you’re drinking.”

Tony stares at his drink. “…what am I drinking?”

“I just threw something together, it doesn’t really have a name.” Barista guy shrugs, then gets a bit of a smirk. “I’ve been calling it the douchebag special in my head.”

“You’ve got a pretty loose tongue for a guy I could get fired in about six seconds.” Tony wouldn’t do it—he’s kind of interested now, he can’t help it, he’s always had a soft spot for people who don’t take his shit—but barista guy just laughs.

“Hey, Nick!” He turns, calls into the back. “I quit!”

Laughter is the only response. Barista guy grins, tries again.

“Fire me!”

“Did you spit in the coffee?”

“Sure!”

“Did anyone see you?”

“Ten witnesses!”

“Give them free coffee and get back to work!”

Barista guy laughs again, leans on the counter between them. “Get me fired, please. In fact, I double dog dare you.”

“You ‘double dog dare’ me?” Tony tries to snort but it comes out as a laugh. “What are you, sixteen?”

“Perpetually.” Barista guy nods, smirks at him. “Go on, try it.”

“Alright.” Tony takes a drink of his macchiato, or whatever the hell it is, then calls in the vague direction of the back. “I’ll give you six million dollars to fire this guy!”

“I’ll give you sixty million to shut the hell up!”

“You know I’m a customer, right?”

“Then quit flirting with my employees and pay for your drink!”

“I’m not—” Tony comes up short. He isn’t flirting with barista guy. At least, he hadn’t been. He could though. It’s not like barista guy isn’t attractive, or funny. And sure, he’s got attitude, but nobody lasts particularly long around Tony unless they’re at least a little bit of an asshole.

Barista guy tilts his head, a knowing smile slowly coming over his features. He _does_ have a pretty nice smile. “You’re not…?”

“I’m not busy.” Tony cleared his throat. “Tonight. If you aren’t.”

Barista guy raises both eyebrows, but he seems more amused than put off. He leans in a little closer, places a hand over his heart. Tony’s confused until he says, “What’s my name?”

Ah, shit.

It’s his nametag he’s covering, as Tony realizes too late, and Tony fumbles.

“Uh. Chris?” Barista guy grins in a way that very clearly says _no._ “Fuck, I don’t know. Robert? Jeremy? Mark?”

“His name’s Steve, give him your number already and let him get the fuck back to work!” the boss calls from the back. 

“C’mon, Nick,” barista guy, Steve, complains, “There’s not even anyone else here!” 

At that moment _Shoot to Thrill_ goes off, and to be honest, Tony’s kind of amazed it took this long. He checks his phone: Pepper, just like he thought. “That’s me, I was supposed to be back at work an hour ago.”

“You’ve only been here fifteen minutes?”

“Exactly.” Tony puts his phone back in his pocket and snags a napkin, then leans in a little so he can steal the marker out of Steve’s pocket. He writes down his number. “But, as you seem to have guessed, I kind of always pick up my phone. Call me when you get off? We can get dinner, if you’re up for it.”

Steve smiles as he takes the napkin, tucks it into his apron. “Sure you can bear to part from your phone that long?”

“If you can bear to go out with a ‘douchebag special’,” Tony teases, “I think I can manage to turn my phone off for a couple hours.”

Steve grins. “Fair enough.”

**4\. I saw you trying to hit the “door close” button in the elevator but I made it in and then I pushed every single button to make you later for work, but now we’re stuck in this fucking elevator as it stops at every single floor and I don’t know what to say other than “you started it” AU**

Tony catches the blond in the elevator’s eye, waves a hand in what he thinks is a pretty common gesture: _hey there stranger, please hold the elevator for me._ Seems pretty self-explanatory, from where he’s standing, except when tiny blond elevator guy leans to the right and presses the button for him, Tony can see him do it in the giant mirror behind him. Which is to say, he can see quite clearly as blondie hits—not once, not twice, but _eight times and counting—_ the door close button.

Not today, fucker.

Suit and briefcase be damned, Tony breaks into a sprint and manages to careen into the elevator at the last possible second, slamming up against the back mirror with a thud. He pushes off the mirror—uncracked, thankfully, the contractors _just_ left yesterday—and elbows blondie to the side so he can vindictively drag his hands over all 93 buttons to make the asshole late for work.

He steps back, squares his shoulders, and resumes a normal standing position. Blondie stares at the now exceedingly bright panel, looking suitably stunned. Tony’s proud, for about half a minute, until he remembers his office is on the top floor and he has a meeting in about five minutes, which is why he’d wanted the elevator held in the first place. Damn it.

They travel four floors together in what is easily the most awkward silence Tony has ever endured before he gives in and tells blondie peevishly, “You started it.”

“How did _I—”_ Blondie starts, and Tony jerks his head pointedly at the mirror behind them. Blondie’s ears go bright red; if he weren’t an asshole, it might be kind of cute. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

They travel seven more floors in perfect silence. No one gets on or off.

“It wasn’t personal,” blondie tries.

Tony makes a noncommittal noise. Two more floors.

“What floor?” Tony asks. On the one hand, he hopes it’s high, because otherwise the whole thing was pointless. On the other hand, if it’s high, they’ve got a long trip ahead of them.

“Ninety, uh. Ninety-three.”

“Joy.”

Six more floors in silence. Twelve more and they’ll be barely a third of the way up; this is going to take forever. Eventually, Tony can’t hold it in anymore.

“Is it because there’s blood on my tie? Because it was a legally obtained sample, okay, and Dum-E’s the idiot who spilled it in the first place.”

Blondie blinks at him, startled, then he stares down at Tony’s tie. “…that’s not ketchup?”

“You closed the elevator door on me because you thought I had _ketchup_ on me? What are you, some kind of germaphobe?”

“I didn’t close the door on you because of your tie at all, I didn’t even see the ketchup, or, the blood, I guess—why wouldn’t you change ties?”

“I forgot about it, that’s not the point,” Tony dismisses. “You closed the door on me because what, then, you didn’t like my face?” 

“No, you’re very handsome, I just—” Blondie freezes midsentence, goes bright red as he belatedly realizes what he just said. “You’re—you look—I mean, there’s nothing abnormal about your appearance, is what I’m trying to, uh, say.”

“Nothing abnormal, huh?” Tony can’t help it, he’s smug now. “There’s a pretty wide gap between ‘very handsome’ and ‘nothing abnormal’.”

The doors ding for the 24th floor, and blondie edges towards the open doors like the light at the end of a tunnel. “I just remembered I didn’t get a workout in this morning, I think I should probably take the stairs—” 

“Hah, no.” Tony grabs his arm, yanks him back. The doors shut and blondie looks dismayed. “If I’m stuck here for ninety-three floors, so are you.” 

“You’re the one who pressed the buttons!”

“You’re the one who tried to shut the door in my very handsomeface!”

Blondie colors again, looks anywhere but at Tony. “I recognized you, that’s all.”

And that—that stings, more than Tony’s willing to admit. He knows he’s been getting particularly bad press lately, but he didn’t think it was enough for people to be terrified of riding in an elevator with him. They pass another three floors before Tony sighs.

“Just ask already.”

“Ask what?”

“If whatever it is you read, or heard or saw or whatever, is true. Go on, I know you want to.” They always want to.

“What? Oh, no, I didn’t—not from the papers,” blondie explains. “I recognized you from being in the company in general, you’re my boss. Well, you’re everyone’s boss, really.”

Tony stares at him. “You shut the door on me because I’m the boss?”

“Not _exactly—”_

“What, so because I’m in charge I can’t ride the elevator? How else would I get to my office, flying robotic suit?” He should write that down somewhere, that’s not a half bad idea.

“No, I just—I have a meeting with you scheduled for fifteen minutes ago and I thought it’d be awkward to share an elevator together only to wind up walking into the same room,” Blondie blurts out in a rush, embarrassed. “I didn’t think about the, uh. Mirror.”

On the plus side, Tony’s no longer late to his meeting.

He can’t help it; he laughs. Blondie—Steve Rogers, then, if Tony remembers the email correctly—groans.

“I’m getting fired, aren’t I?”

“Nah.” Tony grins. Blondie’s—Steve’s—mistake is kind of endearing, actually, though Tony has enough sense not to say that out loud. “Don’t tell anyone, but Pepper revoked my ability to fire people a while ago.”

Steve laughs. “What?”

“Pepper Potts, CEO—”

“I know who Pepper Potts is,” Steve assures, laughing a little. “But you’re still Tony Stark, we all sort of assumed that meant you could still fire people if you wanted.” 

“Who am I, Donald Trump?” Tony waves a hand at him. “It’s not like I went around firing people much anyway. Threatening, yes, definitely, but that’s what got my firing privileges revoked in the first place.”

“Of course it is.” Steve chuckles.

Tony considers him a moment, sidelong. Steve’s pretty handsome himself. He’s shorter than Tony, leaner, with kind eyes and a clean-cut sort of look to him. He’s not exactly Tony’s usual bad boy type and his suit’s nothing special, but that smile…

“So, do you often go around calling your bosses handsome?”

“That…” Steve’s back to looking like he wants to melt into the floor. “It slipped out, I’m sorry, please don’t send me back to sexual harassment training—”

“Back?” 

“Not that I’ve harassed someone!” Steve rushes to clarify. “No, God, I didn’t mean it like that. I just do this…thing, when I laugh too hard, I grab the person nearest to me. Bucky—my friend, he works in prosthetics—he thought it’d be hilarious to report me to HR for ‘inappropriate touching’ on April Fool’s day, only—”

“HR sent out a memo the day before about fake reports.” Tony remembers that, vaguely. “Some kind of fine and potential write-up?” 

“Yeah, I keep telling him to check his email more often. But he didn’t see it until after filing the report, and he’s got too many write-ups as it is for mouthing off, so…”

“So you went to sexual harassment training.”

“Yeah.” Steve sighs. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s a valuable teaching tool for the jerks who need it, but it was also the longest five hours of my life.”

“Huh. Good friend.”

“He is when he’s not being a punk,” Steve mutters.

“I meant you,” Tony clarifies, shooting him a smile.

“Oh.” Steve smiles back, seeming pleased. “Thanks.”

They talk a little more, and Tony finds he’s glad they’ve gotten stuck together. With their initial misunderstanding out of the way—and having established that Steve will most certainly not be fired—Steve’s much more relaxed. He’s got a funny sort of charm to him, sincere and natural and obviously unintentional, which only serves to make him all the more charming. Tony doesn’t often come across people so genuine.

They’re on the 75th floor now, more than two-thirds through; Tony wishes they had longer.

“Stop me anytime here.” Tony clears his throat a little. “If I’m reading things wrong, because I vetted the sexual harassment coaches myself and remember purposefully choosing a fairly vicious one—”

“Olga.” Steve shudders in memory. 

“Right.” Tony grins. “And I don’t think she’d like to re-meet me under those kinds of circumstances. But it’s not often someone finds me so _very_ handsome they can’t bear to share an elevator with me—”

“That’s not what happened,” Steve says, but he’s smiling as he says it and Tony feels nothing but encouraged.

“You sure? That’s how I remember it.”

“Very sure.”

“Well.” Tony reaches into his pocket, fishing for his business card. “You’re wrong, of course, but maybe we could argue about it a little more over dinner some—”

The elevator doors open on the 76th floor, and what seems like the entirety of the R&D department floods in.

“Hey, it’s Tony!” One of Tony’s best developers, Patrick, catches sight of him. He grins and bustles inside, situates himself next to Tony. “We’re going to lunch, you want to come with?”

“Another time, definitely.” Tony nods a little absently, looking for Steve. He can’t even see him now, and he didn’t gotten a particularly good look at how Steve had reacted to the dinner invitation. He hopes he isn’t overstepping. “But I’ve actually got a meeting to—”

“Hey, what’s with the buttons?” One of the researchers points out.

“Shit, yeah,” another agrees, glancing over at Tony. “What’re you stopping at every floor for?”

“Accident,” Tony lies.

“Some jerk shot in here like a bat out of hell and lit it up like a Christmas tree.” That’s Steve’s voice, not that Tony can see him. It sounds like he might be smiling though.

“What he means to say is that some jerk didn’t follow elevator etiquette and got what they deserved,” Tony shoots back in the general direction of Steve’s voice. He hears Steve laugh, and can’t help feeling relieved. They’re okay, then. Probably.

The project manager, Arnie, snorts. “Great. Well, I’m not wasting my lunch break sitting in the elevator—you all can do what you want, but I’m getting off on the next floor and taking the stairs back down. If anyone else wants Bunsen burner pizza, I’ll be in lab six.”

There’s a clamor of excited agreement, so Tony decides to have a little fun.

“That’s a misuse of company property, Arnold, I’m disappointed in you,” Tony tells him in his sternest tone. Excitement turns to nervous, hushed silence, until Arnie breaks into a grin and Tony matches it. “You know I specifically designated lab eight for making pizza, six’s burners will turn the cheese to putty.”

Relief washes over the employees. Tony and Arnie chuckle to themselves. There’s a ding as the elevator hits the 77th, and everyone’s chattering away again as they empty out. Patrick points a finger at Tony with a grin. “Next time, boss.”

“I’ll show you how to make an omelette that’ll knock your socks off,” Tony promises, then the doors close and he turns to—

No one, because he’s alone in the elevator.

Tony swallows his disappointment and adjusts his tie self-consciously. That’s fine. Maybe he _was_ reading things wrong, and Steve just didn’t want to say anything since Tony’s sort of his boss. It would make sense. God, he’s an idiot. Of course he made Steve uncomfortable, the guy hadn’t even wanted to share an elevator with him less than an hour ago. Now Tony’s gone and given him a damn good reason. He deserves whatever hell Olga’s got coming for him when Steve reports him for—

The elevator opens on the 81st floor. The hall is empty, and the doors are just about to close when someone comes all but flying through the crack and slamming into the back wall. Steve?

“What the—”

“Minute,” Steve gasps, panting like a dog and bending over, sticking his head practically between his knees. “Can’t breathe.”

Tony thinks he’s speaking metaphorically, until Steve pulls an inhaler out of his pocket and takes a hit.

“You’re asthmatic?”

“Yep,” Steve wheezes.

“And you…you just ran up four flights of stairs,” Tony says dumbly, because it’s not really even a question. Steve nods vigorously anyway. “ _Why?”_

“I…” Steve sucks in a breath. “You…” He waves a hand loosely. “Card. Didn’t get it.”

Tony stares at him.

“The crowd yanked me outta the…” Steve makes a vague gesture towards the doors, sucks in another breath. “Couldn’t let you get away.”

“You want to go on a date with me that badly?” Tony’s trying for smug, but he knows he’s probably just coming off as pleased. He can live with it. He pulls out his card and a pen, starts writing his private cell number on the back.

“Nope.” Steve shakes his head. Tony feels himself stiffen, stung by the quick rejection and whiplash turnaround until Steve picks his head up, finally looks at Tony. He’s beaming. “You promised we’d finish our argument over dinner, I gotta prove I was right.”

“I see…” Tony feels a grin spread back over his face, and he finishes off the number. “Of course. No secret agenda to woo me, or anything.”

Steve laughs as he takes the card, a breathy sound from all his running. He’s got a bit of a Brooklyn accent when he’s breathless; Tony’s kind of smitten with it.

“Course not. What, just cause you’re some…some bigshot, fancy genius inventor guy? I’ll have you know I’ve had the highest rainbow road score of all my friends for three years running now, you oughta be wooing me.”

“Sounds like it,” Tony agrees, and means it. He smiles. “I’m going to woo the hell out of you, Rogers.”

Steve laughs then and so does Tony, but it doesn’t change the fact that Tony fully and completely intends to do exactly that.

**5\. I asked for your help getting a book off the top shelf and you laughed at my taste and called me a nerd so I shoved you into a table of nonfiction best-sellers and that’s how we both got banned from the quirky community bookstore AU**

Steve _loves_ his bookstore.

It’s not literally his, but it feels that way sometimes; it’s cozy and quirky, just two blocks from his apartment, and has the comfiest lounge area Steve’s ever come across. They don’t often keep up with the latest new or mainstream books, but there are plenty of places for that and Reader’s Shield has rare copies and first editions and all sorts of good stories Steve’s sure he wouldn’t be able to find anywhere else.

They’ve got tall shelving and he never really hit his promised growth spurt, but it’s alright. There’s usually a stool around somewhere, or he can snag someone taller to help him; for the past few weeks, he’s been mostly grabbing the same guy, if he can. He’s got dark hair and stunning eyes, and a goatee that should be totally ridiculous but Steve somehow finds makes him all the more attractive. Steve’s mature enough to admit he’s got a bit of a crush. He usually circles the bookstore at least once or twice when he enters these days to see if goatee guy is around to help him reach some books.

Today has been fairly terrible for Steve, so he counts himself lucky that goatee guy is there to make it a little better. To make it much better, Steve goes right for one of his all-time favorites, _So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish._ It’s up high, so he even gets to talk to goatee guy. Steve considers this is a win win and figures maybe his day’s looking up a little, until goatee guy looks at the cover of the book, gasps a little and crows delightedly, “Oh my god, you’re a _nerd!”_

Steve may overreact a little.

By shoving him hard enough goatee guy goes sprawling into the nearby table of nonfiction best-sellers.

They both get banned, and it’s probably a little—okay, mostly—Steve’s own fault, but he’s still furious with goatee guy. They’re escorted out by one of the employees while the whole store watches on, to Steve’s utter mortification, and told to never return. Steve’s been banned for getting into fights in not-so-appropriate places before, but the bookstore kind of takes the cake. He blames goatee guy for being a disappointing jerk.

“I can’t _believe_ you,” Steve hisses at him once they’re outside. “That was my favorite bookstore!”

“Mine too!” Goatee guy yells back, apparently just as pissed. “So what the hell did you have to go getting us banned for?”

“ _Me?”_

“Yeah, you, crazypants!” Goatee guy jabs a finger in his chest. “You shoved me!”

“Keep poking me, tough guy, I’ll shove you again!”

“What _for?_ I just got you your stupid book—”

“Yeah, then you mocked my taste and called me a nerd!” It sounds kind of dumb when he says it out loud, but it’s too late to go back now so the least he can do is stand by it.

“What—what _century_ are you from, nerd is a _compliment,_ you psycho!”

“A what?” Steve sputters. “Bullshit, don’t try and—”

“Nerds run the world!” Goatee guy insists, “Ever heard of Bill Gates? Larry Ellison? Zuckerberg, Stein, Jobs and Wozniak—these people run the freaking world, I was _trying_ to tell you that you had good taste!”

“Then why the hell did you act all surprised?”

“I wasn’t surprised, I just—” Goatee guy waves a vague hand, makes a funny movement with his mouth. “You always ask me for books and stuff, I thought we kind of had a, I don’t know, a flirting sort of thing going on. I was trying to show common interest or whatever, I’m into the Hitchhiker’s Galaxy series too and most people don’t read beyond the first one, but apparently you’re more interested in shoving people in community bookstores—”

“I thought you were insulting my taste,” Steve maintains, but it sound weak even to his own ears. Goatee guy thought they had a flirting thing going on too?

“So you shoved me, right, makes total sense.”

“I…” Steve starts, then stops, rubs his face with both hands. “I’ve been having a pretty terrible day, and I think I took it out on you.”

“Gee, you think?”

“I’m trying to say I’m sorry,” he snaps, and okay, that probably doesn’t sound very sincere. Still, goatee guy just shoots him a lopsided sort of grin.

“You know what helps when I have terrible days?”

“What?”

“Pushing strangers into bookshelves—”

“If you’re just going to—”

“—then taking them out to dinner to make up for it.”

Steve pauses, more than a little surprised. He doesn’t get asked out much on normal days—he’s not exactly the tallest or biggest or most…anything guy around—but goatee guy still wants to go out with him after all that? “Are you really asking me to dinner?”

“Uh, no.” Goatee teases, poking him in the shoulder. “ _You_ are taking _me_ to dinner to make up for the half a dozen book-shaped bruises you just gave me.”

“That’s—” Steve tries and fails to stifle his smile. “Yeah, alright. Deal.”

**6\. I take my grades very seriously and you’re the lazy asshole who asks a ton of off-topic questions to distract the professor and I might be a foot shorter than you but I swear to god I’ll fight you AU**

Steve’s going to fucking kill this guy.

He’s moved beyond basic distraction tactics, the obvious time-wasters and the mundanely obvious; he’s getting philosophical now, having narrowed in on the professor’s true passion to successfully get him completely off-topic. They’re bickering about the Molyneux problem, and no matter how many times Steve tries to bring the professor back to the topic at hand—a set of extremely difficult physics equations Steve really needs help with, damn it—the asshole down in front just keeps circling them back to philosophy. The guy clearly doesn’t even _like_ philosophy, it’s not that he’s interested, he’s just a lazy asshole who doesn’t want anyone else to get any work done.

After class—the fourth class of Steve’s this week this asshole has shanghaied—Steve manages to snag him by the shirtsleeve and drag him back in before he can slip out the door.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Steve demands.

“Uh…” The guy shoots him a look. “Leaving?”

“I take my grades very seriously,” Steve insists. “If you don’t that’s your problem, but don’t go ruining it for the rest of us.”

“Oh, great.” The guy groans in sudden understanding. “You’re that pipsqueak in the back always trying keep the professor on track, aren’t you?”

He is _not_ a pipsqueak, and even if he is—

“I might be a foot shorter than you but I swear to God I’ll fight you,” Steve threatens.

“Nobody’s asking for a fight, shortstack—”

“Kinda sounds like you are—”

“Nah, relax, you’re cute,” the guy says off-handedly with a little wave, like it’s nothing. “Look, I get bored easily and I was acing this stuff by the fifth grade, I’m going to lose my mind if I can’t mess with the professor a little. You’re having a hard time though, right?”

“Not a _hard_ time,” Steve grumbles, unwilling to admit to this jerk that he’s struggling. Especially since he called Steve cute;Steve isn’t a frickin’ puppy.

“But not an easy one.” The guy looks him over and must see something, because he gives a little nod, as if that settles it. “Tell you what, you let me keep distracting the professor in class, I’ll buy you pizza at Ramona’s afterwards and help you with anything you want. I know this stuff better than he does anyway.”

“Someone’s cocky.” Steve rolls his eyes.

“Someone’s a genius. Someone’s also called Tony Stark, by the way.” The guy—Tony—grins and extends a hand, no sense of humility in sight. He’s arrogant and clearly a jerk, but…there’s something to be said for his confidence. Also, Steve’s starting to think he meant it when he called Steve cute—in the good way, not in the puppy way—since he basically just asked Steve out. Over pizza and physics problems, but still.

“Steve Rogers.” Steve accepts and shakes his hand. “What if I take you up on this, and I don’t pass?”

“Well, depends on your morals.” Tony rocks on his toes. “I can go into the system and change your grade—”

“ _What?”_

“Kidding,” Tony singsongs immediately, and Steve knows he’s not. “Since we’re, uh, _both_ morally responsible people I obviously won’t do that, but I will…”

“If I don’t pass, then you have to retake the class with me,” Steve decides, “And _actually take notes_ so you can help me study for real.”

Tony looks horrified. “Do what now?”

Steve shrugs. “Or you can just lay off the professor and let me earn my grade the normal way.”

Tony squints at him a little. “You drive a hard bargain, Rogers.”

“Only if you’re not smart enough to get one guy up to passing.” Steve shrugs, and the bait works exactly as well as he expects it to.

“I could get that whole class passing if I felt like it.” Tony scowls at him. “Fine, deal, you pass this semester or I retake the class with you and _take notes.”_

He says the last bit like most people would say _eat worms,_ lip curled distastefully and his nose all wrinkled up. Steve laughs and admits privately to himself that maybe, just maybe, Tony might be the littlest bit cute too.

**7\. You tried to barge into a private conversation so I said something devastatingly witty and dismissive but you came back with something even meaner and more clever AU**

It’s not even what Steve says, but how _brilliantly_ he says it. It’s quick, off-the-cuff, smooth like he cuts people out of conversations all the time. Which he doesn’t, he’s really not that kind of person, he’d been having a very obviously private conversation when _this guy_ had just rolled right in and started monopolizing Steve’s date.

And, okay, to be fair, she’s not his date, she’s a friend of a friend of Bucky’s and she probably finds Steve about as interesting as a shoelace, but that isn’t the point. The point is that it’s his moment right now to at least _try_ and impress her. He’s small and not so healthy and gets into trouble more often than is probably good for him; he doesn’t typically get too wide of a window to make an impression.

What he says seems to get her attention though, right up until the new guy comes back at him with something even meaner and far more clever and then it’s him she’s looking at with interest. Steve snaps at him—he doesn’t manage to be as devastatingly witty and dismissive as he was the first time, but whatever, he’s kind of pissed off now—and the guy snaps back, and then they’re bickering and shoving each other around and the guy says something that cuts just a little too close to the quick, so Steve upends his drink over the guy’s head.

There’s a long moment of silence, where the guy just stands there dripping in stunned disbelief and Steve’s pretty sure he’s about to get clocked.

Then the guy’s launching himself at Steve and Steve’s ready for it, gets his fists up and everything just in time to be hauled in by the shirt and kissed extremely thoroughly.

“What the hell?” he asks a bit breathlessly when he gets released, though he can’t help noticing he’s now got the front of the guy’s shirt bunched in his fists, keeping him close instead of shoving him off. “Why did you even come _over_ here, what’s wrong with you?”

“I came over to score a date,” the guy tells him, kisses him again, and okay, yes, Steve knows exactly why he pulled him in instead of pushing him away. What? The guy’s a good kisser.

“You couldn’t get your own, you had to steal mine?”

“I didn’t come to steal yours, I came to steal hers.” The guy grins against Steve’s mouth, and he’s kind of an asshole but God, he’s gorgeous. “And I’m thinking I succeeded.”


	52. Mini blurbs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a couple miniblurbs I kicked out. Warnings: none.

**1\. Tony’s a little eager**

They’re out walking in Central Park when Steve bends on one knee to retie his shoelace, and Tony blurts out “yesI’llmarryyounotakebacks” faster than Steve’s pretty sure he’s ever heard anyone say anything; it genuinely takes him a minute to figure out what it is Tony’s said, and when he does he looks up sharply.

“What?”

Tony clears his throat. “No takebacks.”

Steve can’t help but laugh, getting up off his knee to pull Tony into a happy kiss. “Was that your idea of telling me you want to get married?”

“Only if you insist.” Tony doesn’t get visibly nervous the way other people do, he was trained out of that at a young age, but Steve knows him too well to miss the wide, artificiality of his grin, how he’s already ready to play it off as a joke if he’s rejected. Steve’s chest kind of aches to know that after all this time Tony could really think he would want anything less.

“Oh, I definitely insist.”

**2\. Policeman/troublemaker AU**

Steve wakes up feeling bruised, with a killer headache to match, and when he tries to sit up he realizes he’s handcuffed to the metal bench he was sleeping on. He blinks into awareness, finds Officer Stark looking at him through the bars with a fond, exasperated smile. Steve grins back at him, ignores the sting of his split lip; Tony’s smiles have been getting more and more fond lately, Steve thinks he’s close to winning him over completely.

“Hey,” Steve greets. Tony just shakes his head.

“You’re insane, you know that?” Tony sighs. “What is this, the tenth time this month?”

“All’s fair in love and war.”

Tony clearly doesn’t believe him for a minute. Steve loves his skepticism. “You’re saying you started a barfight in the name of love?”

“I’m saying I let you catch me in the name of love,” Steve corrects.

“Oh, you _let_ me catch you, did you?” Tony raises his eyebrows. “So I’m imagining the part where I had to chase you twelve blocks into a dead-end, then pin you down just to get the handcuffs on?”

“I grew up in Brooklyn, you think I didn’t know that was a dead-end?” Steve grins, split lip be damned, and offers a half-shrug. “As for the handcuffs, what can I say? I like a guy who knows how to throw his weight around.”

Tony’s clearly affected, but tries to be gruff instead. It’s cute. “Flattery won’t get you out of those cuffs, Rogers.”

Steve winks at him. “Who says I want out of them?”

**3\. Steve is not a sharer**

The thing is, people are _strange,_ and especially so in the face of celebrities; people have definitely said some strange things to Steve, and he’s only been a celebrity for a few years. Tony’s been one his whole life. The typical strangeness, Steve doesn’t even mind—of course people are going to fawn over Tony sometimes, he’s brilliant and kind and funny and Steve’s nothing but glad he isn’t the only one who sees that—but this…this is something else.

The first time it happens, Steve’s startled more than anything. How could anyone possibly think it’s appropriate to shout “I want to have your babies!” at someone in the middle of a press conference? Tony and the reporters just laugh it off though, then laugh a little more at Steve’s startled expression. And to be fair, maybe that’s what brings the rest on—“the rest” being the at least fifteen more fans to start shouting things along the lines of “marry me” or “have my babies” at Tony. Steve’s steadily growing less startled and more frustrated. When the eighteenth announces they’ll be “the best Mrs. Stark ever”, Steve leans into his mic before he can think twice.

“Let’s get one thing straight here, the best and the _only_ Mrs. Stark is going to be me, alright?”

There’s a moment of silence, just long enough for Steve to fully appreciate the truly terrible mistake he’s just made and for Clint to blurt out _oh my fucking—,_ and then everyone’s talking at once. Shouting, really, reporters clamoring and fans screaming—gleefully, Steve thinks? It’s hard to tell, sometimes—to the point that when Tony takes his elbow and pulls him in so he can whisper in his ear, Steve can still hardly hear him.

“A+ for spontaneity, rough marks for timing.” Then Tony leans away from him, speaks into his own mic: “Commander Rogers and I are done for today, direct further questions to our teammates and engagement congratulations to Avengers Tower, thank you.”

As Tony leads him out—to the sound of thunderous applause—Steve can’t help quietly clarifying, “That…was a yes, right?”

“Of course it was a yes, don’t be an idiot.” Despite his words, Tony’s smile is fond and bright, and Steve knows everything’s going to be fine. “We need to have a serious talk about your timing though, not to _mention_ your delivery. I mean, good god, Steve. I was expecting at least dinner, not for you to shout at some stranger about wanting to be my wife.”

“Husband.” Steve can feel the tips of his ears turning red, and if he couldn’t feel it, he’d know by the way Tony was smiling. Tony only smiles quite like that when Steve blushes. “I’d like to be your husband.”

“Good.” Backstage now, Tony comes to a stop so he can pull him into a kiss. “Me too. I want a proper proposal, though.”

“Deal.”

“And I reserve the right to act surprised and pretend I had no idea it was coming.”

Steve laughs. “Of course. Can I still call you my fiancé in the meantime?”

Tony pretends to give that serious consideration, but his pleased smile betrays him. “I’ll allow it.”

**4\. Steve fucking Rogers, everybody**

Tony mostly does it to see the look on Steve’s face; the roll of his eyes, the relieved little smile that Tony’s feeling well enough to joke. It’s just a line, he doesn’t mean anything by it, but he gets the feeling Steve’s been taking it personally when, somewhere around the twelfth time Tony startles awake and starts to say it, he only gets to _please tell me nobody kiss—_ before Steve’s mouth is on his. The kiss is hard and fast and damn, there’s even a little bit of tongue in there, then Steve’s pulling back.

“You fucking _wish_ I’d kissed you.”

Tony finds that he really, really does.

**5\. prompt: “I’m sorry that I got way too into playing house and accidentally kissed you passionately”**

“Tony, I don’t know how many times I can tell you, I’m _sorry—”_

“Stop saying it then!”

“You still seem really mad, though, and I don’t think—”

“I’m not mad!”

“You seem mad.”

Tony throws his hands up, back still to Steve as he shouts, “Stop assuming I’m mad!”

“You’re yelling an awful lot for someone who isn’t mad—”

“Why would I be mad, Steve?” Tony whirls on him. “No reason, no reason at all, it’s not like you just _kissed me_ in front of a bunch of _third graders!”_

Steve colors a little at the reminder. He hadn’t meant to. He just—he got caught up in the moment.

They were sent to Brookfield Elementary as a PR gig. Kids of all ages seem to love the Avengers, but most of their PR events are done with and for adults, so this time the team was divided into partners and sent to various elementary schools in the area with a pretty simple mission: play with the kids at recess. Not exactly hard, and Steve had been enjoying every minute of it. He likes kids, even if he’s not always the best with them, and he likes spending time with Tony, albeit maybe a little more than he should. So when the girls insisted Steve and Tony play house with them, Steve may have gotten a little caught up in the act. He couldn’t help it; their pretend life was just so…perfect. Their house was too small to stand up in and all their food was plastic and they didn’t seem to have a living room or bedroom, but the kids kept calling them ‘mom and dad’ and they both slipped into domesticity so, so easily. Tony kept touching him in casual little ways and shooting him that small, private smile and bumping his hip when he was in the way and it was just…it was fake, obviously, but it was the white picket fence life Steve never got the first time around, and had begun to assume he wouldn’t get at all.

They wrapped up “dinner”—an assortment of plastic fruits and vegetables—and Tony leaned into him while the kids pretended to eat, chin over Steve’s shoulder and arm around his waist.

“Must’ve done something right, huh ‘honey’?” And he was teasing, Steve had absolutely known he was teasing from the tone of his voice and the way he’d said ‘honey’ and the grin on his face, but…Steve let himself get caught up in the fantasy anyway.

And kissed Tony rather passionately right there in the middle of the playground.

“I didn’t _mean_ to—”

“I _know!”_ Tony reiterates, making an exaggerated face as he mimics Steve. “I didn’t _mean_ to, I got caught up in the _moment,_ it was just an _act—_ ”

“Tony, would you please—”

“You know every last one of those kids is going to tell their parents. And their parents are going to tell all their friends, and I promise you, Captain America and Iron Man’s great love affair will be front page news by tomorrow at the latest. Honestly, these kids go home at what, 3? I’d give it until 4.”

“It’s not the worst press we’ve ever—”

“No, it’s not _my_ worst—honestly, it might be my best—but it’ll definitely be your worst, and even after we tell them it was your crazy idea of a joke there are always going to be people who still think—”

“What do you mean, my worst?” Steve catches his shoulder. “Tony, I wouldn’t be embarrassed to date you.”

“Careful.” Tony stiffens at his touch, shrugs him off. “The kids might think you’re acting again.”

“There’s no kids here.” It’s true, the hallway is entirely empty. They’re supposed to be going to meet with the principal to discuss how the day went, but they’ve mostly been arguing instead. There’s something about the way Tony is looking at him now though, stiff and tight-lipped, angry but also…hurt? “Tony…are you mad that I kissed you, or are you mad that it wasn’t real?”

“Fuck off, Steve.” Tony turns and starts walking away again. Steve jogs to catch up, grab him by both shoulders this time and turn him back again.

“Tony, I wasn’t trying to—”

“You were!” Tony accuses. “You _know_ how I feel about you, you jackass, why the hell would you—”

Steve freezes. “How you feel about me?”

“Yes!” Tony throws his hands up. “The whole fucking world knows I’ve got a gigantic crush on you, but I thought you of all people maybe wouldn’t throw it in my face like that! And I know I got a little too into the whole playing house thing, but _kissing me_ just to remind me of what I can’t have is—it’s fucking _cruel,_ Steve, and I—”

Steve’s kissing him before he can think about it, uses his strength and bulk to haul Tony up against the nearest locker and kiss him, _really_ kiss him, like if he puts his all into this maybe they’ll both stop being such enormous idiots. He runs a hand through Tony’s hair and holds him there by the back of his head, his other hand pressed against Tony’s lower back to keep them together. Tony’s hands fluster wildly for a minute, then he’s digging them into Steve’s shirt and angling his head and pressing his thigh between Steve’s legs—

“Cap’n America an’ Iron Man are kissin’ again!” someone hollers.

They break apart reluctantly, to find one of the little boys from earlier—Kenny something?—watching them with crossed arms and a disgruntled look.

“Tattletale.” Tony’s still clutching Steve’s shirt, and when Steve tries to move Tony only grips him tighter. Not going anywhere, then. “I need a minute with Cap, Lenny.”

“It’s Benny,” the boy announces imperially.

“Of course it is. I need a minute alone, _Benny,_ please?”

Benny makes a face. “You’re just gonna kiss him again.”

“Maybe I am, you can scram or get an eyeful.”

“Gross,” Benny declares, but takes off in the other direction.

“Gonna kiss me again?” Steve asks once Benny’s gone, only half kidding. Tony’s grip on Steve’s shirt tightens.

“If this is your idea of a joke—” Tony starts, but Steve successfully derails him by stroking his thumb tenderly along Tony’s cheek. Tony falls silent. He looks painfully hopeful, and Steve feels like the world’s biggest idiot for not seeing this sooner.

“It’s not a joke. It wasn’t a joke the first time either, I never said it was. I said I got caught up in the moment, the moment of pretending to be…with you, the way I want to be. The way we could be.”

“Oh,” Tony says softly.

“Yeah.” Steve can’t help it, he laughs a little as he leans in, bumps their foreheads together gently. “Oh.”


	53. College waiter Steve AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is a college student on a football scholarship working as a waiter to help pay his mom’s medical bills. Sometimes this means he has to skip meals, which makes working in a restaurant even harder...until Tony comes along. Warnings: none.

Tony was a genius in many areas, but as Pepper loved to remind him, that didn’t actually make him perfect.

For example, he may not have been so hot at things like “schedules”, or “routines”, or “feeding himself”. Which wasn’t to say he couldn’t feed himself—he’d been living on his own for almost four years now, he could manage—so much as he didn’t necessarily know how to cook what one might call a proper meal. It was hardly his fault. Jarvis cooked for him growing up, and after the crash Tony had always had enough spending money to make things work. He knew a couple simple meals and how to order takeout, that was more than enough to get him by. However, after six straight days of working on his senior project and running on nothing more than terrible smoothies and burnt grilled cheese sandwiches, Tony was ready for something a little more substantial.

Campus food was disgusting but Tony was too hungry to go far, so he wound up at a fancy restaurant just a few blocks outside the college district. It looked about the same as every other fancy restaurant Tony had ever been in except for its notable and, at the moment, very appealing emptiness. He ducked inside and got comfortable. He was perusing the menu when he caught sight of the waiter, a guy he recognized even from the back: Steve Rogers, campus golden boy and star football player. They’d never had classes together or anything, but Rogers was the kind of guy everyone knew about. Tony had always been a little curious despite himself. Rhodey had met the guy a couple times through mutual ROTC friends, said he was somehow just as likable as people made him sound.

Tony was about to wave him over when he caught something odd in Rogers’ expression. He was clearing a nearby table, but he’d paused as he reached the plates. Whatever group had dined there last had either been wasteful or in a hurry, because there was still almost half a meal left behind and Rogers was staring down at it with a strange look on his face. For a minute Tony thought maybe Rogers was judging the last group for their waste or something, but his expression was…different. Longing, almost. Rogers hesitated, glancing back towards the kitchen and around at the mostly empty tables as he inched a hand towards the fork, until his scan of the room landed on Tony. He jerked back guiltily, looking away and briskly clearing the table instead.

Shit, the guy was hungry.

“Waiter?” Tony called, waved him over with his free hand. Rogers put his tray down on the empty table and came to take Tony’s order.

He ordered one of nearly everything: salads, appetizers, entrees…everything. Rogers seemed a little surprised, but dutifully took his order and didn’t ask any questions. It took three trips to bring it all out in the end, and Tony could practically see the poor guy’s mouth watering.

“Is there anything else I can get y—” Mid-sentence, Rogers’ stomach rumbled audibly. He looked mortified, but Tony just laughed and beckoned for him to sit.

“Eat with me.”

“Oh, I—that’s nice, but I’m working.” Rogers tried to defer. “I can’t just—”

His stomach interrupted them again, grumbling even louder than before. Rogers colored adorably.

“You’re allowed a break, aren’t you?” Tony pointed out. “Why not take it now?”

“I…” Steve wavered. “Are you sure?”

“You think I ordered all this for myself?” Tony grinned. “Come on, I saw you eyeing the leftovers. Have a seat.”

“Let me just—” Rogers took a few steps away, caught another waiter by the arm. “Sam, can you tell Nick I’m taking my fifteen?”

“Sure thing.” The waiter, Sam, shot Tony an interesting look. “Is that—?”

“A nice customer who bought enough food to share, yep,” Rogers finished for him, a little quickly. Tony raised an eyebrow.

“Sure thing.” Sam just nodded with a sly smile, already heading for the back. Rogers returned to the table.

“A nice customer, huh?” Tony hummed.

“Very nice,” Rogers agreed, a little smile beginning to form as he took a seat.

Tony shrugged off the sincerity. “Who wants to dine alone? You’re doing me a favor.”

“Sure.” Rogers looked less than convinced, but reached for one of the plates anyway. “Did you want this one, or…?”

“Take whatever you want,” Tony insisted.

“Alright.” Rogers smiled to himself. He started eating, digging in with slightly messy enthusiasm until he caught himself, glanced up at Tony anxiously. “Sorry, I haven’t had anything to eat yet today, I didn’t mean to—”

While Rogers stammered out excuses, Tony picked up one of the sliders and took way too large of a very messy bite. Rogers’ sentence petered off, and Tony grinned as best he could with his mouth full.

“I’ve had nothing but burnt grilled cheese and terrible smoothies for the past six days,” Tony told him once he’d swallowed the bite. “And there’s no one else here to judge us anyway. I could not give less of a shit about manners.”

A matching grin spread over Rogers’ face. He took a messy bite of his pasta in turn, and even while wearing a stiff waiter’s uniform and with pesto sauce now smeared on his cheek, it was a little unreal how handsome he was when he smiled like that. Tony felt warm right down to his toes.

Alright, so maybe he could understand why everyone was so gaga about this guy.


	54. Pirate AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is an infamous pirate, Steve is the commodore sent to arrest him, and yet somehow nothing between them has ever been quite that simple. Warnings: none.

It was strange to think about, sometimes.

The facts seemed so bleak, so black and white: Tony was a pirate, Steve a commodore. They met three years prior, when Steve had been given the assignment to hunt him down and bring he and his crew up on charges of treason. Tony had stayed just one step ahead him at all times, frustrating and intriguing Steve in turn. He’d been promoted to commodore so young for a reason, after all. He was very good at his job. None had escaped him, and only a slim few had ever managed to challenge him. Even those, he’d caught within weeks. It took him four months and three days to catch Tony the first time.

First time, because Tony had managed to pick his handcuffs, trick Steve into coming close enough he could surprise him with a kiss, and slip the handcuffs on Steve instead.

The second time Steve was wary—and alright, perhaps still a little pissy about the kiss and run—but Tony had managed to charm him again almost effortlessly. This time when they kissed, Tony didn’t dash. He stayed right where he was, and it wasn’t until ages later that Steve realized Tony was using both hands, hands that should’ve been tied behind his back, to get Steve off. He decided against bringing it up.

There were times Steve had wondered if he was abusing his power somehow, if Tony wouldn’t have done such things had he not felt a need to; was it only a means of escape, something he put himself through to get free again? But it wasn’t long until Tony started making slips too stupid to be mistakes, started leaving trails too obvious to be accidental. Tony was helping Steve find him, leaving clues and hints and guiding Steve to him; Steve’s worries faded away.

It was around that time Steve started forgoing throwing him in the brig at all, telling anyone who cared to listen that Tony was simply too dangerous for that, had escaped too many times. He needed immediate supervision, clearly. So Tony stayed with Steve, handcuffed when in sight of the crew and when not…well, that was their business. They didn’t discuss why Steve didn’t handcuff him, didn’t discuss that Steve was hardly ever armed—and if he was to start, he certainly wasn’t by the end—and that Tony could escape essentially any time he pleased, yet he always waited. Waited not only until they’d finished but until they’d talked and held each other and slept almost the whole night through; Tony always waited to leave until just before sunrise, pausing each time to stroke Steve’s cheek or run a gentle hand through his hair. They didn’t discuss that they both knew Steve was awake for these moments no matter what he pretended, or that if Tony’s hand lingered on his cheek Steve would press a goodbye kiss to his palm.

No matter how black and white the facts of it may have seemed, Steve had been willingly meeting Tony in the grey for a long time now. Or, he supposed with a glance to the star-dappled sky, in the moonlight.

He saw Tony before Tony saw him, leaning over the deck’s railing. He looked almost painfully handsome under the light of the stars, his body all lean angles and tan skin, eyes searching the sea a little anxiously. A smile flit across his lips as he seemed to spot something, then slipped away again as he realized it was only more water.

“I’m looking for a pirate,” Steve called up, careful to keep his voice hushed. Tony turned at the sound of his voice, smile returning in full force. “You wouldn’t happen to have seen any, would you?”

“Of course not, sir commodore,” Tony crossed his arms as he leaned further over the ship’s edge. “I’m but a simple fisherman, see.”

Steve laughed. “You’ve never been a simple anything in your life.”

“You wound me.” Tony placed a hand over his heart, but his smile never faded. “I’m of simple heart and simple mind, I love and think of only one thing.”

“That so?” Steve’s own heart felt constricted, too warm for his chest.

“Oh yes.” Tony’s smile slipped into a smirk. “The sea, of course.”

“Now it’s you who wounds me,” Steve retorted, though he knew Tony was only teasing. Love wasn’t a word they said aloud, they were playing with enough fire as it was, but Steve had never doubted for a moment it was what they shared.

“My deepest apologies, sir commodore. Perhaps you ought to come aboard, I’m certain I can find some way to repay you.”

“Can you?” Steve rowed closer, tossed the rope onboard. Tony caught it, began mooring Steve’s rowboat. “You’ve hurt me quite egregiously.”

“Then I know just how to make things right.” Tony finished his knot and extended his hand to Steve. Steve could’ve made the step aboard without problem, but he accepted the hand regardless and let Tony pull him up and close. His other hand closed over Steve’s lower back, eyes bright and smile soft. “I’ve got a sight I think you’ll like.”

“Is it a sight I’ve seen before?” Steve slipped his fingers under Tony’s jacket and shirt, brushing over his hip to tug him closer. Tony laughed.

“For a man of the law, you’ve quite the dirty mind, sir commodore,” Tony teased.

“Enough of that,” Steve told him, meaning the _sir commodore_ ’s. Once or twice was funny, too many made his head hurt. He’d leave it all behind if Tony ever asked, wouldn’t have to think twice. Tony never asked. Steve drew him into a kiss instead, preferring to think a little less. Tony went as pliantly as Steve had known he would, sweet and unhurried like they could only ever be under the cover of moonlight.

“Though I’m not particularly modest, I wasn’t the sight I was referring to,” Tony told him after a moment, running his thumb along Steve jaw before pressing a quick kiss to it. “Come on.”

“Your crew—”

“Is all in town, taking the night off.” Tony led him along by the hand. “I’m guarding the ship all by my lonesome.”

Steve smiled, having suspected as much. Tony had raised the flag that signaled he had the night shift, but it didn’t always mean they would be alone. “I thought it was odd you’d docked here. Not much to do in town, aside from…”

“Rabble-rousing?” Tony chuckled.

“Something like that.”

“Let them rabble-rouse. They deserve a night, and I…” Tony squeezed their linked fingers. “Have plans of my own.”

“Plans, hm?” Steve teased, squeezing back.

“Indeed.” Tony nodded seriously. He stopped in front of the rope ladder that led to the crow’s nest. “You ever been up here?”

“Not recently.” He’d likely climbed his own back when he’d first gotten his ship, exploring every nook and cranny, but these days he tended to leave the sightseeing to Clint. “Certainly not at night. Have you?”

“Guess it’s my turn to show you something new then.” Tony winked at him and started climbing the ladder. After he’d gotten a few rungs up, Steve followed after him.

“You’re right,” he decided. Tony’s backside swayed above him as they climbed higher together, and Steve grinned. “I wouldn’t call it new, but I do quite like the view.”

Tony let one hand go of the ladder, leaning around to grin back at Steve. “Dirty mind indeed.”

“My apologies if I’ve offended your delicate sensibilities.” Steve ran his hand up Tony’s calf as he spoke, along his thigh. “Your mind being so pure and chaste, of course.”

“Of course.” Tony agreed cheekily, taking the last few steps up. He held out a hand to Steve in turn, helped him into the nest.

Steve didn’t need the help, but Tony’s hand was warm in his and he’d long learned that Tony’s offers were rarely to help and more to touch. True to form, instead of releasing him once Steve was on his feet Tony only drew him closer, kissed him softly. When they parted, Tony tipped his head in gesture towards the city. It was small, well-lit but nowhere near the blinding light of a big city, just a smattering of color dappling the hillside like candle’s flame. Some of it spilled onto the water, turning the tides luminous and utterly captivating.

“You like it?” Tony tucked his chin over Steve’s shoulder, arms coming up around him from behind.

“I do.” Steve took Tony’s hand in his again. “I really do.”

The crow’s nest was a small space, but there was room for two to sit if they huddled in close. Steve smiled and did just that, drawing Tony into his lap as they settled together. He inhaled deeply, trying to absorb it all; the city was radiant and he’d always enjoyed the tang of ocean air, but it was Tony in his arms that made the night truly perfect. They’d been running around together for years now, they’d had more than their fair share of special moments, but peace? Peace was rare. Steve relished it gratefully.

“I know it’s not much,” Tony said when they’d been quiet a long while. His voice was soft to match the stillness of the night, but also tempered, a little wary. “And I know that maybe it seemed special when you first saw it, because we had to climb all the way up here to see it, but after awhile…climbing gets tiresome. And maybe the view’s not so worth it anymore. It’s the same old view, after all, and that can get…boring, or difficult when you can’t—you can’t see the light as well, because every damn little thing keeps impeding. And there’s a lot of views out there, ones you don’t have to go running around in the middle of the night at a secret flag signal just to see—”

Steve cupped the back of Tony’s neck to bring him into a silencing kiss.

“I love _this_ view,” Steve told him firmly, foreheads pressed together. “And I’ll fight anyone or anything I have to in order to keep it.”

“That so?” Tony’s voice cracked a little, his surprise evident. Steve nodded.

“That’s so. Now do I have to fight you for it, or are you going to let me enjoy my view in peace?”

“Such a sap,” Tony whispered. “I love this view too, you know.”

“I know.” Steve ran his thumb over the curve of Tony’s jaw, tipped his chin up for another kiss.


	55. Vamp Steve AU part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of vampire Steve being his stubborn, martyring self. Warnings: none.

“That.” Tony’s voice is calm, even, and completely neutral as he announces, “Is the single stupidest thing you have ever said to me.”

“Tony—” Steve starts, but Tony talks right over him without pause.

“ _Including_ the time you said Star Trek and Star Wars were ‘basically the same thing’.” Steve can’t help pausing; Tony must really be serious. “It’s a miracle I ever went on a second date with you, but guess what?”

“I don’t want to guess—”

“I convinced you they weren’t,” Tony insists anyway. “Because you were stupidly wrong. And now you’re stupidly wrong about this, which is okay, I still love you, but you’re going to have to trust me when I say that you’re being stupidly wrong again.”

Steve sighs. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

“Do you know why not?” Tony demands.

Steve sighs again. “Because I’m stupidly—”

“Because you’re stupidly wrong,” Tony finishes for him. “And you know what, in the end, it’s really you who’s missing out—the longer you wait to turn me, the older I get. And when you inevitably realize how stupidly wrong you are and turn me anyway, you’re the one who’s going to have to live with my wrinkly old ass until the end of eternity, so joke’s on you, buddy.”

Tony punctuates this with a poke to Steve’s chest; Steve catches Tony’s hand, gives a squeeze.

“And what a privilege that would be.” Steve isn’t joking in the slightest. Tony snorts anyway.

“Right. So really, you should just go ahead and turn me now while I’ve at least still got a decent amount of stamina.”

“You’ve got a lot more than stamina going for you.” Steve brings Tony’s hand up, kisses his fingers. “But no.”

“God damn it, Steve.” Tony yanks his hand back, pissed again.

“You’ll be happier this way,” Steve repeats, for what feels like the millionth time. He’s had to remind himself of it at least as much. “I promise. I know it doesn’t feel like that right now—”

“It’s not going to feel like that ever, you idiot!” Tony makes a wild gesture with his hands. “How can you not understand that?”

“I loved Peggy,” Steve reminds him. “She was my whole world, and I thought that’d never change. But then I met you. And I still—there’s that part of me that still loves her, that always will, but the rest of me has moved on. I hope there’s a part of you that will always love me, but the rest of you will move on.”

Tony doesn’t actually say anything, just groans, long and loud and aggravated.

“I’m so glad you’re being mature about this,” Steve tells him.

Tony rolls his eyes. “We can’t all be a thousand years old, deeply mature and terminally stupid.”

“Tony—”

“Will I be in perpetual misery for the rest of my life? Sure, probably not.” Tony waves dismissively. “But do you really think I’d be happier without you? Steve, you’re not some blip on the radar of my life anymore, we’re way beyond the ‘leaving before things go too far’ stage.”

“And that’s my fault, but—”

“Yeah, okay, fine,” Tony interrupts him tersely. “You want to play the blame game? Let’s do it. Steve, if you weren’t willing to turn me, you probably should have skipped town somewhere between when we became friends and when we slept together. Or at least the morning after. But you didn’t, so now we’re here, and here is a place of permanence: I am permanently, for better or for worse, in love with you. Being with you is a thing that makes me happy. You running off to god knows where, so you can isolate yourself and brood up a storm and generally be miserable, is a thing that would make me pretty damn miserable too.” The fight goes out of Tony a little bit then, and he sways forward. He slides a hand around the back of Steve’s neck, gives a squeeze as he brings their foreheads together. “I just want you to be happy, you big idiot.”

“I know,” Steve acknowledges, bringing his arms up around Tony to keep him close. “But I want you to be happy, too.”

“Exactly what part of ‘spending eternity with the love of my life’ do you think I’d be unhappy with?”

“The eternity part,” Steve smiles bitterly. He knows all too well how alluring the idea sounds, how picturesque, when it’s anything but. “It isn’t how you imagine. You’d be giving up so much more than you realize, and all for a hell of your own making.”

“Yeah, well.” Tony tucks his head against Steve’s shoulder. “Hell is the least I’d go through for you.”

“Humans.” Steve sighs. He means it as a scoff, a joke, but he can’t quite bring himself to be dismissive. Tony doesn’t yet understand what an incredible thing he’s trying so hard to give up. “You’re so much more fragile than you realize, but you live without hesitation. You more than anyone I know.” He withdraws just far enough to cup Tony’s face in his hands. “You’re kind and impulsive and you give everything of yourself to anyone who asks. Often even to those who don’t ask. Your generosity is one of the things I love most about you, but I won’t let you be so careless with something so precious. Humanity is an enviable thing, Tony. Don’t waste it.”

Tony clasps a hand around Steve’s wrist, smiles softly the way he does when he’s about to kiss Steve. True to form, a kiss follows. Against his lips Tony tells him, “It’s not a waste if you’re worth it.”

And that’s just it, isn’t it? He’s not. He knows he’s not, he’s never been, he’s a scrawny kid from a nowhere town who’s been forgotten by all but time itself and one amazing, crazy mechanic. Tony has a life here, ties to friends and family and people he loves who aren’t Steve, people he’ll lose. Steve could never give him that back. Any friends they made would be left behind or lost to time, and starting a family would be impossible. They’d have each other, but when weighed against everything else Tony must want out of life? Steve’s nothing.

“Don’t you dare look at me like that,” Tony insists, sounding a little hurt as he brushes his thumb over Steve’s cheek. “You are. You’re worth the world, and if I could give it to you I would.”

“I don’t want the world,” Steve admits quietly, so tired of rallying against the very thing he wants most. Wanting has never been the problem. “Just you.”


	56. Retirement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve wants to retire. He might be a bit concerned about how Tony will feel about that. Warnings: none.

It wasn’t that Steve was against retirement, exactly.

In his youth, sure—even the thought of such a thing would’ve gotten him bristling back then, made him itch to do more and prove his worth and all that rah rah rah. Back then he’d thought the world couldn’t so much as turn without him there to defend it. He’d taken responsibility for anything and everything he could, put the safety of the whole world squarely on his own shoulders. Leading the Avengers had given him a sense of purpose and belonging at a time in his life when he’d desperately needed that, but that time was long over.

Besides, there were so many heroes now, capable ones, ones he’d trained and befriended and fought alongside. They had it covered. They didn’t need him, hadn’t in a long time. And Steve didn’t need them anymore either; he’d always be grateful, of course, but he didn’t need to be a superhero to feel like he belonged in this time. He had his friends, his home, his husband…he was far more tied to the here and now than he’d ever been to the past.

In fact, it was the here and now he didn’t want to miss a minute of. He’d spent so much of his youth running around, chasing down villains and bouncing from one mission to another that it had begun to feel a little repetitive. Alright, a lot repetitive—a person could only get captured so many times before the experience started to lose its novelty—and certainly unnecessary. Kamala or Peter or whoever else could escape capture and defeat the villain of the week just as well as he could. So why not spend his time at home, instead?

He and Tony had never really even had a honeymoon. They’d tried a grand total of six times, but after they were quite literally shot down out of the sky, they’d given it up as one of those normal-person things they just didn’t have room for in their lives. There’d been an unfortunate amount of those over the years. Which wasn’t to say Steve hadn’t enjoyed the life they’d built together, because of course he had—what they’d missed on the honeymoon had been more than made up for in I-almost-lost-you sex over the years—but some of the things they’d put off could still happen. If they had the time. Which they would, if they ever retired. Which, again, Steve was decidedly not against.

In theory.

In reality…well. At the time Steve met Tony, Tony had an entire room in his childhood home dedicated to merchandise with Steve’s face on it. The room had been started by Howard of course, but Tony hadn’t exactly let it sit around idly. Then there were the paintings. Dozens, easily. Some propaganda, some of the Commander or Howling Commando uniforms, and certainly an obscene amount from his time in spandex. That had always been Tony’s favorite. Steve as Cap had always been Tony’s favorite, and maybe that might have been the problem.

Steve knew logically that Tony loved him for more than his body, or his heroics. If he’d ever doubted it, he could think back to the numerous times villains had found various ways to reverse the serum, or shrink him, or age him, or whatever else they could find to take away from his general “Captain America”-ness. Tony had loved him as much in those times as he always had, perhaps more so to make up for Steve’s own insecurities. But it had always been reversible, and even if it hadn’t been, at the end of the day Steve would still have been determined to be Captain America no matter what size he was. He still would’ve been the hero Tony idolized, the hero Tony had fallen in love with. If he gave up the cowl voluntarily, however…

Steve was perhaps a little worried about how deeply Tony’s hero worship ran.

He hadn’t even liked the times Bucky and Sam had temporarily taken over the position. They’d been great at their jobs, were heroes through and through, he supported them all the way, et cetera, whatever. He still hadn’t liked watching Tony fight beside them. He was happy to know people he trusted were covering his husband’s back on the occasions he couldn’t, and yet it had never sat right with him. Watching Tony turn to them for orders, hearing him call them “Cap”—jokingly, always, Steve was Tony’s Cap and they all knew it, but still—or, the worst of it, watching Tony bounce repulsors off the shield—Steve’s shield! Their move!—had always made him feel anxious.

He’d been thinking about retirement in the abstract for a while but it was one of Tony’s recent interviews that was getting Steve worked up. His response to whether or not he was considering retirement hadn’t been surprising, but it hadn’t exactly calmed Steve’s nerves, either.

“The point of retiring would be to spend more time with family.” Tony had touched his ring with a bit of a smile then, a soft one he’d never have shown the cameras even half a decade ago, and as always Steve had felt pleased to be the cause. “But god knows Steve’ll be on his deathbed still trying to sign out AMA so he can get a couple more punches in, so I don’t imagine either of us will be clocking out anytime soon, no.”

It’d gotten a laugh, which had likely been the goal. And it certainly hadn’t been wrong—Steve was well known for being unable to let things lie, and had perhaps been called a micromanager once (Jan) or twice (Tony)—but he was ready to let that part of his life go. It felt finished, complete. His life with Tony felt like it’d barely begun. They weren’t stagnant, of course, but they were just so  _busy._ They both worked day jobs in addition to business trips, SHIELD missions, Avengers emergencies, active social calendars…even when they could attend things together, it was different. Public. Not at all like those rare nights at home, watching terrible movies and eating too much take-out and talking for hours without a thought. Just being together. Collecting more of those moments while he still could was far more important to Steve than being Captain America. He could only hope Tony felt the same.

He brought it up on one of those rare nights. They’d finished Star Wars Episode Nine, Tony’s favorite classic, and were halfway through a party amount of Thai food, also Tony’s favorite. Steve was still mentally preparing his speech when the credits began to roll, and Tony poked him with a chopstick.

“Go on, spit it out.” When Steve tried to give him a perplexed look, Tony only rolled his eyes. “Honey, I love you, but you’re not subtle. Come on, I gave you the whole movie to rehearse it in your head. Let’s hear it.”

“You know what I’m going to say?” Steve tried, because sometimes Tony was able to read his mind and those times always went so much faster than when Steve tried to sort out the proper words on his own.

“No.” Damn. “But I know what you look like when you’re stewing on something. Speech not ready yet?”

“Not even close.” Steve sighed. “Care to guess?”

“Well, we’re too old to reevaluate kids.” Tony rubbed his chin with his thumb like he did when he was considering a puzzle. “Can’t be an Avengers emergency, my card would’ve gone off. Besides, it’s us-related, you got my favorite food and we watched my favorite movie—if I were a dog this is the part where I’d get euthanized. Oh god, you don’t want to move to Brooklyn, do you?”

“No.” Steve laughed, a little because of the face Tony made as he said Brooklyn but mostly because even in a euthanization metaphor the worry of divorce clearly hadn’t crossed Tony’s mind. That wouldn’t have always been true. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Thank god.” Tony grinned. He nudged his cold toes up under Steve’s sweatshirt in prompting. “Tell me.”

“You don’t want to guess? You love puzzles.”

“Well.” Tony made a thoughtful little humming noise. “I suppose I have one more guess. But don’t—if I’m wrong, don’t think too much of it.”

“How do you mean?”

“It’s just a thought.” Tony shrugged, cavalier. “Not a suggestion, there’s no pressure if it isn’t what you’re thinking. But we are…getting up there. And the team is so damn good these days they hardly need us really, so if you were thinking along the lines of retirement—”

“Yes.” Steve breathed a sigh of relief, reached over to take Tony’s hand and give a grateful squeeze. “Yes, that’s exactly what I was thinking. You wouldn’t mind if I gave up the Captain America mantle?”

“Mind?” Tony laughed, cleared pleased and maybe even a bit giddy. “Steve, I’ve been trying to get you to retire for years!”

“You have?” Steve couldn’t help feeling confused. Why would Tony _want_ him to retire? He’d never made any secret of how attractive he found Steve as Captain America, or how much he enjoyed the adrenaline rush that came with charging into battle side by side. It didn’t make any sense. “But you’ve always…I mean, Captain America was your childhood hero.”

“Well, sure.” Tony scooted forward, cupped Steve’s face with one hand to draw him into a comforting kiss. “But Steve Rogers has been my hero for a lot longer. And I’d kind of like to spend some time with him that doesn’t involve aliens, supervillains, paparazzi, or any combination thereof. Or anyone else at all, actually.” Tony offered his most vulnerable smile, the one that had only ever been for Steve. The one that said _I need you_ and _I love you_ and _I’m still not sure why I deserve this_ all at once. “I don’t get you to myself nearly as often as I’d like.”

“I’ve been thinking the very same thing,” Steve admitted, pressing their foreheads together. He closed his eyes and took a breath. Tony loved him just as much out of the costume as he did in it. Always had. He thought he’d known that, but maybe he’d needed to hear it out loud more than he’d realized.

“Oh, you idiot,” Tony said softly, and Steve opened his eyes curiously. Tony pressed a kiss to his lips, quick, then flicked him under the chin. “You thought I only married Captain America, is that what this is about?”

“No, of course not—” Tony flicked him again for lying. “Well, not exactly—” Tony moved to flick him again, Steve caught his hand. He threaded their fingers together, admitted, “Alright, maybe a little bit. I just know how much you enjoy me being Captain America, that’s all. You haven’t exactly made a secret of it.”

“I enjoy you being Captain America because it combines two of my favorite things.” Tony shook his head with a laugh. “Childhood idol and love of my life, all wrapped up in one spangly, spandexed package—best thing ever to happen to me, easy. But if I had to choose one? Come on, that’s never even been a question. Cap’s a figurehead. You’re a real person, _my_ person. I’d choose you every time.”

Steve, feeling a little silly now but grateful nonetheless, snaked his arms around Tony and hugged him closer. Tony returned the embrace with a snort of laughter. “Honestly, Steve. I mean I always knew you got a little weird about me working with Bucky and Sam when they held the title, but really. You’re ridiculous, you know that? Thirty years of marriage, and you think I’m hung up on the spandex. I ought to be offended. I am, actually, I think I’m a little offended—”

Steve cut him off with a kiss by his ear and the simple, grateful truth. “I love you.”

Tony abandoned his teasing like Steve had hoped, instead giving a fond sigh and curling closer so he could rest his head against Steve’s shoulder. “I love you too, beloved. Always.”


	57. Mini blurbs 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More mini blurbs. Warnings: none.

**Prompt #1: “When did people start dipping french fries in ice cream?” Bucky asked.**

“When did people start dipping french fries in ice cream?” Bucky asked.

Steve choked on the ice cream-dipped french fry in question. Three weeks of “yes” “no” and “I don’t know”, and Bucky’s first multi-syllabic sentence was about—

“I, uh, I have no idea,” he said eventually, because he didn’t have the slightest clue. Trying to be helpful, he added, “Tony does it, so, probably at least the eighties?”

“Huh.” It was a small sound, barely anything, but a ghost of a smirk was on Bucky’s lips. It was almost like…

“What?”

Bucky shrugged and picked up a fry, observing it thoughtfully before dipping it in Steve’s ice cream with a brief, blink-and-miss-it flash of a smile. “Your taste in women is significantly worse than I remember, that’s all.”

**Prompt #2: “Wait when you say Steve has a crush on Sam, are you talking about Steve the human or Steve the ostrich?”**

“Wait when you say Steve has a crush on Sam, are you talking about Steve the human or Steve the ostrich?”

“What—” Tony rubbed his forehead. “Barton, why the hell would I be talking about an ostrich?”

“I don’t know!” Clint stopped peeling the orange long enough to put his hands up. “Long Island Zoo named their new ostrich after him, and when we did that ribbon-cutting event it seemed to really like Sam, so—”

“I’m not talking about ostriches here, you human disaster.” Tony sighed, joining him at the kitchen table.

Clint had an incredible amount of ingredients laid out in front of him, most notably the juicer and a dozen oranges in various stages of peeling. He was making some kind of special homemade orange juice for a sick Sam, which was nice, but given Steve’s crush probably unnecessary. Steve was exactly the kind of person who would take pleasure in utterly doting on those he cared about when they fell ill, so Sam was likely already covered. Tony was just trying to warn Clint of that before he went to all the trouble of special orange juice, but apparently they’d somehow gotten derailed into ostrich territory.

“I’m talking about Steve Rogers, aka Captain A-Freaking-Merica, having a crush on Sam Wilson, aka the Falcon,” Tony spelled it out. “Clear enough for you?”

“I mean…yeah.” Clint tilted his head, squinted at him. “I’m still kind of confused though.”

“How could you possibly still be—”

“Steve doesn’t have a crush on Sam,” Clint said slowly, back to methodically peeling apart his seventh orange. “You know that, right?”

“Just trust me,” Tony dismissed him. “Steve and I talk more than anybody, I think I’d know who he does or doesn’t have a crush on.”

“One would think,” Clint agreed, though the way he said it was a little strange. “And yet it kinda seems like you totally don’t.”

“Try and be a little more cryptic, maybe that’ll be helpful,” Tony suggested sarcastically.

“Dude, Steve is totally head over boner for  _you_.” Clint snorted, presumably at the startled look on Tony’s face. “Yeah. The part where you talk all the time and stare at each other adoringly and do pretty much everything together? Surprise, water is wet, skies are blue, Steve is crushing super hard on you.” Tony continued to stare at him in stunned silence. Clint hummed thoughtfully. “I should write greeting cards, that was pretty good.”

“Thanks for that, Clint.” Steve’s tight, strained voice was about the only thing that could’ve gotten Tony’s attention at that particular moment. He turned to find Steve standing in the doorway, hand gripping the frame so hard it seemed about to snap and looking anywhere but at Tony.

“Ugh.” Clint just rolled his eyes again. “Was I seriously still not clear enough? Uh…I don’t know, grass is green, cows go moo, Tony’s obviously crushing on you too. We good? Can I have the kitchen back now? Sam’s obnoxious when he’s sick and the internet said this is supposed to make him better.”

“Um.” Tony managed. Steve finally made eye contact with him, only to clench his jaw and look away again.

“It’s not funny, Clint,” Steve snapped. “That was personal.”

“Oh my god,” Clint groaned loudly. “Can you just talk to each other alone for like five minutes then come thank me later? I’m serious, Sam’s whiny as hell when he’s sick.”

“That’s enough, I’ll—I’m sorry.” Steve nodded jerkily in Tony’s vague direction. “You need space, we can—I’ll—later.”

As Steve turned to beat a hasty retreat, Tony finally managed to jumpstart his brain. Steve wasn’t acting like Clint had just said some ridiculous, embarrassingly untrue thing. Steve was acting like Clint had just ousted something he’d wanted to keep secret.

“Wait, what was—” He followed after Steve, managed to catch his arm halfway down the hall. “Steve, wait, you—you said it was personal, that it wasn’t funny. Is what he’s saying true?”

“Do you really want the answer to that?” Steve asked hesitantly. Tony couldn’t help noticing he had yet to pull his arm away. “That’s…there’s a reason I never said anything, Tony. I don’t want you to feel—I would never risk our friendship over something like that, not when you don’t—I just, I respect you so much, and your friendship means the world…to…”

Steve trailed off as Tony used his hold on Steve’s arm to tug him closer, insinuate himself into Steve’s arms. He tipped his head up invitingly and Steve sucked in a sharp, hopeful breath. His hands brushed Tony’s waist gently, carefully, like he expected Tony might jerk away the moment he touched him.

“Tony?” Steve asked softly.

“Your friendship means the world to me too. Which is why I never said anything either,” Tony admitted. “But if what Clint said is even a little bit true—”

“It is,” Steve said in a rush. His thumbs stroked anxiously over the hem of Tony’s shirt. “I—it is. Do you…he said you’re…?”

Tony nodded, offered a nervous smile. “Interested in you too? Yeah. Clint’s a strange one, but I can’t say he’s unobservant.”

“Oh, that’s—” Steve stood straighter, visibly brightening as he broke into a beaming smile. “That’s good, that’s great, I really…that’s so great.”

“Is it so great?” Tony teased, tilting his chin up a little more. If he wanted to project ‘kiss me right freaking now’ any more, he’d have to rent out a neon sign.

“It really is.” Steve laughed, squeezing Tony closer and finally leaning in.

**Prompt #3: “I can’t compete with his best friend.”**

“I can’t compete with his best friend,” Tony says with a look at Steve. Bucky laughs as Tony’s expression shifts to sharp competitiveness. “Mostly because ‘compete’ doesn’t do justice to the way I would utterly dominate you.”

“Tony…” Steve starts, but Rhodey waves him off with a bit of a grin.

“I know that look, save your breath.”

“You can’t actually think you know more about Captain America than I do,” Bucky reasons. “I was  _there_.”

“Please,” Tony scoffs. “You met my father. I was basically born for this. Hit it, Nat.”

Natasha looks at Bucky, raises an eyebrow. Bucky nods. “Stark wants a war, he’s got one. Let’s do this.”

Natasha sighs but pops in the game Clint found in the bargain bin. The xbox waiting screen melts away, red white and blue flashing brightly as the menu opens and the voiceover starts.

_“Hey Cap fans! Ready to test your knowledge of America’s favorite superhero? Press x on your controller and let’s play some superhero trivia!”_

**Prompt #4: "Ti amo," Steve whispers, half muffled into Tony's hair.**

“Ti amo,” Steve whispers, half muffled into Tony’s hair.

“What’d you say?” Tony shuffles a little from where they’re cuddled together on the couch, tilts his head to look up at Steve with pleased surprise. That look alone is easily worth the past few months of studying. It’s worth just about anything, in Steve’s book.

He still has to think half a second, translate the words mentally before saying them out loud, but he’s getting better and responds quickly with, “Mi hai sentito, ho detto che ti amo.”  _You heard me, I said I love you._

“Huh.” Tony looks even more surprised than before, and his fond smile widens.

“Quindi quanto bravo sei esattamente?”  _So how good are you, exactly?_

“Ci sto ancora lavorando,” Steve admits.  _It’s a work in progress._ “Ma sto studiando molto perchè ho una cosa che vorrei dirti.”  _But I’ve been studying up, because I have something I want to say to you._

“Davvero?” Tony stretches out in his lap a bit, snuggling closer with an excited sort of grin. _Do you now?_

“Si certo.”  _Sure do._ Steve adjusts his arm so he can take Tony’s hand, lace their fingers together. “Volevo dirti quanto significhi per me, in una lingua che significa molto per te. Tu sei…tutto per me, il sole, la luna, le stelle. Ho cercato un posto a cui appartenere per così tanto tempo, anche prima del ghiaccio, e tu…tu mi hai dato tutto. Tu sei questo per me. Ho visto molte cose cambiare nella mia vita e mi piace pensare che sono in grado di gestire qualsiasi cosa in questo momento, ma non perdere te…”

_I wanted to tell you how much you mean to me, in a language that means so much to you. You’re just…everything, to me. Sun, moon, stars. I’ve been looking for a place to belong for so long, even before the ice, and you…you gave me that. You are that, for me. I’ve seen a lot of change in my life and I like to think I can handle anything these days, but losing you…_

“Tesoro, lo sai che non—”  _Honey, you know I’m not—_

“Che non vai da nessuna parte, lo so, solo _—_ lasciami finire, okay?”  _I know you aren’t going anywhere, I know, I just—let me finish, okay?_  Steve bends down just enough to give Tony a too-brief kiss. “Ho bisogno di te. E non sono abituato ad aver bisogno delle persone, ma con te è diverso. Per una volta non la sento come una debolezza. La sento come un punto di forza. Come se fossi migliore, perchè tu mi rendi migliore. E ho speso fin troppo tempo aspettando per cose che sapevo di volere, quindi non voglio aspettare questa volta. Voglio che tu sappia quanto io ti ami, e voglio passare il resto delle nostre vite insieme.”

_I need you. And I’m not used to that, to letting myself need people, but it’s different with you. It doesn’t feel like weakness, for once. It feels like strength. Like I’m better for it, because you make me better. And I’ve spent enough of my life waiting for things I know I want, so I don’t want to wait this time. I want you to know just how much I love you, and I want to spend the rest of our lives together._

“Steve, I…” Tony trails off a little breathlessly, his hand brushing softly over Steve’s cheek as he finds his voice again. “You can’t be saying—do you really—”

“Non avrei imparato l’italiano per chiunque, lo sai.”  _I wouldn’t learn Italian for just anybody, you know._ Steve smiles. “Solo per il mio fidanzato, si spera. Tony, vuoi—”  _Just my fiancé, hopefully. Tony, will you—_

“Yes!” Tony laughs, cups Steve’s face in both hands and kisses him with excited intensity. “Si, yes—”

“Non ho nemmeno chiesto,” Steve teases.  _I didn’t even get to ask._ “Non penso che valga a meno che non finisca la proposta.”  _I don’t think it counts unless I finish the question._

“Sei ridicolo.”  _You’re ridiculous._ Tony shakes his head with a pleased little smile, waves his hand. “Va bene, su chiedi, vai avanti.”  _Alright, ask, go ahead._

“Vuoi dividerti l’ultima fetta di pizza con me?” _Will you split the last slice of pizza with me?_

Tony rolls his eyes, tries to look annoyed and lands on giddy instead as he kicks the box of pizza off the coffee table with his foot. “Tu, Steve Rogers, sei terribilmente dispettoso.”  _You, Steve Rogers, are a horrible tease._

“Hey, ho aperto il mio cuore per te! Pensavo che fossimo ad un punto della nostra relazione in cui potessimo condividere l’ultimo pezzo di pizza, ma a quanto pare mi—”

_Hey, I put my heart on the line here! I thought we were at a place in our relationship where we could share the last slice, but apparently I was—_

Tony shuts him up by maneuvering himself back into Steve’s lap, wrapping both arms tight around his neck and hauling him into an emotional kiss. It’s a long, wonderful few moments before they separate.

“Possiamo dividerci che diavolo ti pare, scemo.” Tony gives a watery sort of laugh.  _We can share whatever the hell you want, dummy._

“Beh, non più.”  _Well, not anymore._ Steve peers around Tony to observe the upended pizza box thoughtfully. “Non voglio la pizza dal pavimento.” _I don’t want floor pizza._

“Forse dovresti sposarti qualcuno di bello e ricco allora.”  _Maybe you should marry someone rich and handsome then_ , Tony suggests with a grin. “Qualcuno disposto a comprare la pizza ogni volta che vuoi.”  _Someone willing to buy you pizza any time you want._

“Chissene ricco e bello. Sai che cosa voglio veramente?”  _Forget rich and handsome. You know what I really want?_

“Dimmi, Steve.”  _Tell me, Steve._ Tony’s eyes are suspiciously bright, and his smile is still a bit watery. Steve’s own eyes suddenly don’t feel too dry either. “Che cosa vuoi veramente?”  _What do you really want?_

“Te.”  _You._ He tightens his arms around Tony, pulls him in close for a kiss. “Solo te.”  _Just you._

**Prompt #5: “Are you actually going to eat that sandwich, or are you just admiring the aesthetic?”**

“Are you actually going to eat that sandwich, or are you just admiring the aesthetic?”

“You don’t understand,” Clint repeated for what had to be at least the fifth time. “It’s _perfect_.”

It really was a masterpiece of a sandwich, Tony would admit that much. Every topping a person could desire, all flavors seemingly balanced, yet not too unwieldy to hold and eat. Still. It had to get eaten sometime, and Clint had been staring at it for over twenty minutes now. He’d moved away from the counter at least, draping himself dramatically over one of the kitchen chairs instead of blocking the pathways. It was lunchtime, and hungry Avengers were grumpy Avengers. Every so often he’d lift his head, stare longingly at the sandwich still poised on the counter, then slump back down to rest his head on the table in defeat.

“If I eat it, it’ll be gone forever,” he muttered into the wood. “If I don’t eat it, it goes to waste. I can’t win.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Tony advised vaguely, offering him a pat on the back before returning his focus to his tablet.

“It’s just so…perfect. Kismet, you know? I’ll never get it that perfect again, I know it. I wasn’t even paying attention!”

“Attentio’ to wha’?”

At the sound of someone speaking with their mouth full, Clint and Tony’s heads jerked up. Clint’s eyes widened in horror; Tony’s widened in glee.

Steve was casually leaning against the counter in all his sweaty, post-workout glory, half of Clint’s masterpiece in his mouth, the other in his hand.

Clint slammed his head back down on the table. Tony beamed at Steve.

“Have I told you yet that you’re my favorite?”

**Prompt #6: Steve maybe didn’t think this all the way through.**

Steve maybe didn’t think this all the way through.

God, that was going to be written on his tombstone at this rate, wasn’t it? One that might get put up rather soon, if his current velocity was any indication.

“Anyone?” Steve shouted loud as he could.

Before that damn doombot knocked out his comm, it sounded like his nearest teammate was Clint—not a flier, and six blocks east besides. No one was going hear him. They certainly weren’t going to catch him. He was going to continue sailing through the air, and best bet, he might die quickly if he hit the pavement head first.

It wasn’t an unexpected way to die. He fell from great heights near constantly, especially in battle. He also usually had a working comm and teammates ready to catch him, but sooner or later that luck had been bound to run out. What surprised him far more than his own impending death was the regret that came with it.

He wouldn’t always have felt that way. For months if not years after his time in the ice he would’ve been perfectly happy accepting the end. Not seeking it exactly, but not opposed to the concept. He’d felt like he’d gotten all the time he’d deserved. Now…now he had people again. People to protect, people he cared about, people he wanted to see just one more time. People he should’ve asked to dinner months ago. Years ago.

Shit, that pavement was not getting any further away.

He closed his eyes when he hit the five story mark. No one was catching him, nothing was beneath him but cold hard pavement, and maybe he wasn’t ready to meet his maker just yet. Didn’t mean he had to watch it happen.

Any minute now, he’d—

He came to a halt mid-air, reverberating against some sort of non-physical barrier. It felt like when Wanda caught him with her magic, but she was dozens of blocks away. Even if she somehow knew to catch him, her powers weren’t that far-reaching. Steve cracked an eye open. The pavement was barely a few feet from his face and didn’t seem to be getting any closer. He opened his eyes completely, observed the unmoving pavement. Huh.

He tried to move and felt a vibration in his extremities. Strange. He wiggled his fingers, tried twisting his head to get a better look. It was hard, he felt something pushing against his neck and forehead, but he was able to turn enough to see that the wrist cuffs of his suit were lit up bright blue—arc reactor blue, StarkIndustries blue—and seemed to be emitting some kind of pulse. Whatever it was, it was clearly what was keeping him suspended. He couldn’t angle his neck down enough to get a good look, but he’d bet anything the collar of his uniform and the symbol on his helmet were emitting the same pulse. Probably what had kept him from snapping his neck.

_Tony._

Of course.

He squirmed, managing to dislodge the pulses and flip over, knocking himself to the ground. Nearly a hundred story fall with nothing more than a few scrapes and bruises to show for it. How in the hell had Tony—god, did it even matter? Steve couldn’t help himself, he laughed, giddy with relief and gratitude. He fiddled with his cuffs. Even now that he knew what to look for he still couldn’t see much. A ridge that wasn’t there before, maybe.

He dusted himself off, and went to borrow a cell phone from the nearest civilian.

“You have ten seconds to explain how you got this number.” Tony was clearly still in battle mode. Didn’t sound hurt at least, thankfully.

“I’ve got a whole lot more time than that, thanks to whatever you did to my suit.”

“Steve!” Tony’s voice brightened immediately. Steve smiled. “We’ve been trying to—”

“Doombot knocked my comm right out of my ear. Of course I grabbed it as it flew away, but did you know they can dislodge their arms at will?”

“How far did you fall?”

“Hundred stories or so.”

“Jesus—”

“Thought that might be the end, for a minute there.” Steve huffed a disbelieving laugh. “Really did. What’d you do to my uniform?”

“Simple variation of repulsor tech, wasn’t hard.” Tony dismissed both the generosity and the genius of the act out of hand, as Steve had known full well he would. “Look, we can go back and forth all day about whether supersoldiers qualify as mere humans or not, but no healing factor in the world is going to be enough to reinflate you if you become a human pancake and you jump off buildings like it’s your hobby. What am I supposed to do, just watch it happen?”

“You’re supposed to catch me—”

“If I’d had even the slightest idea you were in danger—”

“—and you did. Catch me, I mean. You always do.” Steve flexed his wrist, eyed the little ridge along the cuff he’d missed before. “You free Friday night?”

The civilian he’d borrowed the phone from gaped at him a little, but that wasn’t the reaction he was holding his breath for.

“What? I—yes, I mean, did you—is this about training? Because I told you, the suit—”

“It’s not about training. We should do that too, but Friday night I want to take you out on a date. Are you free?”

“A—wait, what? I think—I must’ve missed something, between the doombots and the cell service, because it sounded like—”

“The service is perfectly fine, it’s Stark tech.” Steve smiled even though Tony couldn’t see him. “I know the manufacturer personally, he’s very reliable.”

“I—you—what’s happening here? Did you have a stroke? Or whiplash, do you have whiplash? I tested the hovertech myself but you have broader shoulders than I do, that might’ve thrown off the—”

“I didn’t have a stroke and I don’t have whiplash, I had a near-death experience and I want to take the person who saved my life out on a date,” Steve explained patiently. “Though it’s mostly just a good excuse to get off my ass, since I’ve wanted to ask him out pretty much since we first met.”

“You hated me when we first met.”

“I said ‘pretty much’.”

“You’re actually serious?” Finally, Steve caught just the littlest glimmer of hopeful excitement in Tony’s voice. He felt himself beam in response.

“You’re damn right I am.” Steve glanced at the sky. No doombots in sight nearby, but that didn’t mean the fight was over yet. “If you’re not too swamped, I—”

“No, definitely not, there’s barely half a dozen left and the team has wrap-up completely handled, let’s blow this popsicle stand—”

Steve bit his lip to keep from laughing. “I was going to ask for a ride back to the action.”

“Oh. Yep, I can—that can definitely be arranged.” Tony cleared his throat, embarrassed now. “Where are you?”

“Corner of Lexington and East 56th. And let’s make sure the fight’s really over, but then I’m all for whatever you had in mind a minute ago.”

“Captain America, skipping out on clean-up?” Tony was going for teasing, but he mostly sounded surprised. “You really did have a near-death experience.”

“Nothing like one to get your priorities in order.” Steve watched the sky for his favorite robot. “I’ll tell you all about it on our date.”

Tony laughed. “Do you lead with near-death experience stories on all your first dates?”

“Not usually.” Steve smiled as he caught the first glimmer of red and gold streaking through the sky towards him. “Just the important ones.”

**Prompt #7: Steve Rogers shivered in his chair, toeing his foot nervously against the smooth, grey carpeting.**

Steve Rogers shivered in his chair, toeing his foot nervously against the smooth, grey carpeting.

He’d braved worse situations. This wasn’t even a bad situation, not really. Awkward, sure. The beginning of way too many bad pornos, definitely. Well. He glanced up at the clock again. At least the student was on time in porn.

He should probably not be thinking about porn right now.

“Hey, prof.” Tony bustled into his office with a grin and a wink, and Steve tried not wince at the title. He wasn’t technically Tony’s professor, he was his advisor, but. Still. He was so screwed. Tony held out both coffees. “Late, I know, but I come bearing Starbucks. Knowing you I’d guess you either like it black as night or sugared to the nines, so I got one of each. Pick your poison.”

“None for you?” Tony was notoriously over-caffeinated at all times.

“Thoughtful.” Tony smiled, and Steve died a little inside. “I drank one on the way over and I’m not picky anyway, so I’ll take whatever you don’t.”

“Alright.” Steve accepted the black coffee.

“A man after my own heart, I knew it.” Tony bumped his shoulder. Steve allowed himself a brief moment to be charmed, then cleared his throat and glanced down at the papers he’d prepared.

“So what’re you having trouble with exactly?”

“Straight to business, fair enough.” Tony’s smile wavered only briefly, then he took the seat next to Steve’s desk.

The office wasn’t really his so much as a communal space with three or four desks and chairs, typically shared by no less than five or six professors at a time. Tony had requested later office hours to work around his hectic schedule, so the fact that they were here after hours was pretty much the only reason no one else was. Leaving them alone together, and now an arm’s length apart at best.

This was punishment for all the times he’d spouted off about how any teacher interested in their student needed professional help, wasn’t it?

To be fair, his advisees were usually undergrads closer to half his age, not two years older than him and returning for their fourth degree. Tony wasn’t some susceptible, fresh-faced kid. The man owned a fortune 500 company for god’s sake. He was a brilliant, funny, charming person Steve’s own age who was picking up a degree in art to spite the critics who said he didn’t have a creative bone in his body. And yes, Steve knew that didn’t change the fact that he technically held some modicum of power over Tony by being his advisor, but Steve kind of felt like the whole “billionaire owner of a fortune 500 company” thing negated the “technically sort of your advisor” thing. Had he mentioned that Tony was definitely his own age? And that the last time he met someone his own age who was this cute and kind and funny was basically never?

Yeah, okay, he was still probably going to hell.

They spent an hour going over how to differentiate between artistic styles, same as they had last week. For all his brilliance in other areas Tony was really struggling with this. They typically met at least once a week to go over it, more if Tony had a test coming up.

“Monet?”

“What?” Steve frowned, glanced again at the picture he’d shown Tony to be sure he wasn’t crazy. “Tony, we did this one fifteen minutes ago.”

“Oh. Uh.” Maybe he was going crazy. It almost looked like Tony was…blushing? “You’re right, we did, it’s the Renoir.”

Renoir’s works were fairly easy to identify by their bold lines and light subjects, not a common combination for the time period, and Steve was certain he’d shown Tony this particular piece no longer than fifteen minutes ago. Tony had a sharp mind. It was one thing to have trouble distinguishing between artistic styles, but to forget things so easily?

“Hey, are you doing okay? If you’re not feeling well tonight we could meet tomorrow instead.”

“We could.” Tony shifted a little. Bit his lip, tapped his foot against the corner of Steve’s desk. “Or, here’s something, tomorrow’s Friday night.”

“Oh, are you busy? Another night is fine—”

“No, not busy—are you busy? Because if you’re busy—”

“I’m not busy, tomorrow is—”

“Then maybe you’d like to go on a date?” Tony said just a little too quickly, already wincing preemptively. “With me, ideally?”

“A date?” Steve repeated, because he couldn’t have heard that right.

“Yep,” Tony drew it out, rocked back in his chair. “Ah, crap, see, you’re making the face I knew you would but listen, I know I’m technically your student and that’s probably kind of vaguely a little bit morally, uh, let’s go with grey? But come on, I’m two years older than you anyway, and I’m getting this degree on a dare—it means shit all to me. What does mean something is the fact that in my line of work genuine people are rarer than vibranium, so if we’re being completely honest here I’m more than happy to drop this ridiculous degree entirely for a date with you.”

Because Steve’s brain hated him, all that came out his mouth was, “Art isn’t a ridiculous degree.”

Tony groaned a little bit, leaned forward until his forehead was pushed into the arm of the chair. “I memorized the artistic styles weeks ago, Steve, I’ve been meeting with you on Thursdays because Thursdays are board meeting days and board meeting days are the worst, only now they’re the best, because I get to meet with you and flirt hopelessly while you blush and smile and try so earnestly to help me learn something I mastered weeks ago, and I just—whatever you’re going to say, please say it and put me out if my misery already, I haven’t been this embarrassed since boarding school—”

“Yes.”

Tony jerked upright, a red mark on his forehead from where he’d pressed it into the armrest. “Wait, what?”

“I said yes, am I not allowed to say yes?” Steve teased. “Was this some kind of entrapment thing, or—”

“No! Of course you can say—yes is the preferred answer, yes is good, yes is great, and I would never entrap—okay, you’re laughing at me now, that was a joke, obviously, I knew that—”

“Tony.” Steve managed between laughs. “Stop talking.”

“Yes thank you,” Tony blurted in relief, then shut his mouth.

“Tomorrow?” Tony nodded. “Does 7 work for you?” Another nod. “Do you want my number to text about details?” Tony gestured for Steve’s phone, so he passed it over.

As Tony put in the number, he glanced up to shoot Steve a brief, apologetic smile. “Would you believe me if I said I’m usually much more suave?”

“Not really,” Steve said with a bit of a grin, adding honestly, “But I kinda like you a little less suave. It’s sweet.”

“Not the word most people would use to describe me.” Tony snorted. Steve refrained from commenting, but he personally felt that anyone who disagreed clearly didn’t know Tony very well. Tony glanced up, caught his eye with a soft smile. “I’ll take it though.”

Oh, Steve was definitely in trouble.


	58. Almost-Breakups Suck (Happy Ending)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "He felt the words like a physical blow to his chest—aching and deep and so, so cold." Warnings: none.

He felt the words like a physical blow to his chest—aching and deep and so, so cold.

Which was ironic, given how warm Tony’s words usually made him feel. Warm and happy and…and  _loved_ , or so he’d thought. Sam had warned him ages ago that modern dating was more casual than he might be used to, but Steve had been so sure he’d adapted. The first time they’d kissed he’d thought  _I could love you so damn easily,_ but he’d waited. Waited a month and then six and now nearly a whole year, and waiting might be his strong suit but that didn’t mean it didn’t kill him a little to do it. To hold back the words that threatened to leave his tongue every time he opened his mouth, when Tony smiled or scowled or pouted or even just breathed, but apparently it hadn’t mattered. After all this time, Tony still didn’t love him back.

Ironic probably wasn’t the right word. Sad, maybe.

“You’re  _what?”_  Rhodey didn’t sound as devastated as Steve felt, but at least he sounded shocked. Tony hadn’t brought this up before, then. The words rang again in his head like warning bells.

_I’m breaking up with him tonight._

“I have to.” Tony’s answer was so quiet Steve almost missed it over the sound of his own thoughts. The fact that they were on comms didn’t help either.

“Tones,” Rhodey’s answer was soft and sympathetic. Steve wasn’t following the conversation at all. “No, you don’t. Not unless you actually want to.”

“You’re the one who said I should.” Steve tried not to think too uncharitably of Rhodey, there obviously had to be context, but he mostly failed.

“Uh, no, I most definitely did not say that.” Steve tried to hold onto the relief that Rhodey hadn’t wanted them to break them up, but that just meant it was Tony’s idea. “I said you needed to have a conversation with him, put everything out there.”

What did that mean?

“Tomorrow makes a year,” Tony said, and even to someone who didn’t know him like Steve did he would’ve sounded hurt. Why did he sound hurt? “I can’t do this another year.”

And that—

Steve had thought _I’m breaking up with him tonight_ had hurt but that, that was—

He must have made some kind of sound because suddenly Rhodey swore and said, “Tony, we’re still on the—” and Tony said, “Shit, Steve, honey—”

Steve ripped the comm out of his ear.

_Steve, honey—_

_I can’t do this another year._

_I’m breaking up with him tonight._

Everyone in the quinjet was looking at him curiously now. He forced his body language into something calmer, waved the comm.

“Static burst,” he said by way of explanation. Then, as casually as he could manage, he asked, “Anyone else still have their comms in?”

Everyone shook their heads and Steve tried not to look as relieved as he felt. Relief passed all too quickly however, nausea and anxiety taking its place. He excused himself and headed to the back corner. No one in the jet believed he was okay, but if they really didn’t have their comms in they might believe the mission had just rattled him in some way he didn’t want to talk about. They all had moments like that every once in a while, little triggers that weren’t quite enough to distract them in a fight but were enough to bother them after the adrenaline wore off.

He meant to just take a couple minutes, try and collect himself, but instead he found himself heading for his locker. They usually kept at least a couple changes of clothes on the jet in case they needed to go straight from missions to something else. The outfit he found was old and probably not the freshest, but it’d do.

Tony had to be already halfway back to the tower. He and Rhodey liked racing home, burning off leftover energy. Steve wasn’t sure if Tony would be waiting for him in the landing bay or already avoiding him, and he didn’t know which would hurt worse: being broken up with straight off or being avoided and having it dragged out. He knew he didn’t want to find out.

Once he’d changed out of his uniform, he grabbed a parachute.

“Hey there, Cap.” Clint glanced over his shoulder. “Whatcha up to back there?”

“When you pass over Central Park, drop me off.” Steve cinched up the shoulder straps without looking at Clint. “I’ve got an errand to run.”

“You know this isn’t a bus, right? We can’t really make stops in crowded areas—”

“I know, Clint.” Steve secured the last strap around his waist with a pat. “That’s what the parachute is for.”

Clint glanced at Natasha. She shrugged. “He uses a parachute now, that’s something.”

He did. He still didn’t usually need one, but Tony got all wound up whenever Steve jumped without it. Something about not always being there to catch him.

His heart twisting in his chest, Steve jabbed the open hatch button. The button cover cracked.

“Oh, uh, okay, I guess you’re jumping now. You sure we can’t take you back to the tower, Tony’s probably waiting for—?”

The wind whipped away anything else Clint had to say on the matter.

He closed his eyes and savored the moment. Everything but his most basic senses fell away, melting into the background as he plummeted to the ground. There was nothing but this. His body like a bullet piercing the sky, the ground rushing up to meet him, the adrenaline making his heart twist and pound and ache for reasons he could pretend were temporary. It was just the fall. Just the rush. In a moment he’d deploy his parachute, his heart would stop hurting, and he would go home to the man he loved.

He opened his parachute at the very last second, drifting into Central Park with a bad taste in his mouth. He’d thought that would help more than it had. If anyone recognized him they didn’t approach, so he collected himself and stashed the parachute back into its pack with minimal trouble.

He meandered through the park. A check of his cell phone revealed a missed call from Tony’s suit, missed at about the time he’d taken out his comm. One call. He stuffed his phone back in his pocket and kept walking. Tony was ready to give up. Steve left his phone in the room once while out on a run, and rather than wait for him to get home Tony had called seven times to try and get his opinion on what take-out to order for dinner that night. Now they were breaking up and he was getting one call.

Steve never did learn to give up easy.

He collected flowers almost absent-mindedly as he walked around Central Park, considering what he wanted to say. Tony’s harsh words weren’t the whole story. There was a reason, there had to be, something Steve could apologize for or undo or be better at. They could work it out. Fix it. Tony said he had to break up with Steve, not that he wanted to; Steve must’ve done something. Or not done something. He didn’t have much relationship experience in general, past or future, but he knew he had flaws. He was married to his work. He was stubborn at best, downright inflexible at worst. He was quick to anger, to blame, and didn’t always give Tony the credit he deserved for all the little things Steve himself never gave a second thought to. Romantic gestures, sentimental moments, thoughtful dates. Flowers.

Part of it was Steve trying to not to push for more than Tony was willing to give. Five minutes into their first date Steve had been planning their whole future together; he couldn’t help himself, he was an all or nothing kind of person. Even without Sam’s warnings about modern dating, however, he’d known full well first dates weren’t the place for that. So he’d kept it to himself. Even as the months went by and they grew closer, saw each other more and more, practically shared a floor in all but official title, Steve still tried to hold back just how much he wanted it all. If he didn’t put it out there, it couldn’t be taken away from him. Or so he’d thought.

He had nearly more flowers than he could hold by the time he made it back to the Tower.

“JARVIS, are you able to disclose Tony’s location?”

Tony tended to block him out during fights. JARVIS couldn’t disobey direct instructions, but he was an intelligent being and often found a loophole if he believed Steve was doing his best to fix things. It had always been encouraging to know that someone whose primary function was to look out for Tony wanted them to stay together.

“You may deposit the flowers wherever you like, I will alert him to your return.” Vague and unrevealing. JARVIS hadn’t picked a side.

“I’d rather give them to him myself.” Steve hoisted them a little, tried to get a better grip. “There’s something I’d like to say, something I should’ve said a while ago.”

“I can relay—”

“Face to face.” Steve shook his head. “Tell him it’s important. That if a break up is really what he wants I’ll understand, but there’s something I need to say first. I’ll be waiting on my old floor when he’s ready.”

“As you wish, Captain.”

Steve didn’t have to wait long. He had barely enough time to consider if he might be waiting long enough to sit down before he heard the opening click of the door. He straightened, held out the flowers. Tony’s expression was fairly neutral until he saw the flowers and one eyebrow darted up.

“JARVIS wasn’t kidding,” he said slowly.

“Better too many than too few.”

Tony shook his head. “Steve, you have to believe I never meant for you to hear any of that, I thought Rhodey and I were on our private channel—”

“Of course I know, you would never—”

“But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t true,” Tony finished softly. Before that moment, Steve had worked himself into a state where he’d been fairly determined he could fix this, because he  _had_ to fix this. Face to face with Tony now…

“You really want to break up?”

“Yes,” Tony said, but the hurt voice from before was back, this time accompanied by a pained expression and Tony being unable to meet his eyes.

“On the comms you said you had to.” Steve shuffled the flowers a little, and, feeling awkward, decided to finally put them down. Tony didn’t seem particularly eager to take them. “What did you mean?”

Tony glanced at the flowers, then away again. “I think it’s time, Steve. Don’t you?”

“It’s time?” Steve repeated dumbly, because…what?

“It’s been a year. A good year,” Tony added quickly. “A very good year, I’m not saying—I’m just saying that if you’re not serious about us then this only lasts so long, and I think we’ve reached that point. I…care about you. A lot. And you—”

“I care about you too, of course I—”

“I know you do—”

“You don’t, I’m serious about this, about you—”

“Don’t just—” Tony cut him off, shook his head. “Come on, Steve. You think I can’t tell? You think I don’t notice when you hold pieces of yourself back, when you shy away every time I try and get even a little bit serious? We already practically live together but when I asked if you wanted to make it official—”

“What?” Steve shook his head adamantly. “You never—”

“I  _did_ and you cracked some stupid joke about how moving in together was basically one step away from marriage like that was—like that was a joke too, like you couldn’t even picture it, and I—look, I get it. You don’t want that, or you don’t want it with me, whichever. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I can’t keep putting my all into this just to get—” Tony waved a frustrated hand at the flowers now strewn across the couch. “The occasional bouquet back when you think you’ve messed up.”

“Tony, that’s not—”

“What? Fair?” Tony demanded, getting worked up now. “You know what’s not fair? Seeing you finally show some real interest in this relationship only after I’ve made the really goddamn hard decision of ending it, that’s what’s not fair.”

“I was going to say that’s not true.” It took everything he had to resist moving closer. The look on Tony’s face hurt to watch, but it was all too likely that stepping any closer would just set him off again. “I cracked that idiotic joke because I thought it was what you wanted to hear.”

“Bullshit—”

“It’s not bullshit. I thought you were joking about moving in together, so I thought you wouldn’t want to know just how very much I want to move in with you for real, and I made a joke. A stupid, untrue joke. To protect myself, like I’ve been doing from day one—”

“You think I don’t know that? That’s all you do, Steve! You protect yourself, keep anything too serious out of the conversation completely because god forbid you look even the slightest bit vulnerable in front of me, someone you supposedly  _trust—”_

“I trust you more than anyone—” Steve said fiercely.

“Then you have fucking trust issues!” Tony snapped. “And that’s coming from me.”

“Tony—”

“No, you know what trust looks like? Trust is me telling you how incredibly fucking lonely boarding school was. Trust is telling you what Obadiah did to me, telling you about MIT and my mother and the cave and every personal thing that has pretty much ever happened to me. And I didn’t do it as some kind of tit for tat but at some point, yeah, I kind of expected you to either start sharing with me too or call it quits. But you didn’t, so now I have to, and fuck you for making me.”

“I’m in love with you.”

“Bullshit,” Tony spat. Steve tried not to wince. It was a little too close to how a few of the more nightmarish versions of this had gone in his head.

“It’s the truth,” he promised as calmly as he could. After nearly a year of being a complete and utter idiot, he could understand why Tony might have some trouble believing him. “I’ve been in love with you since our first date. And I knew saying it then wasn’t a good idea, so I didn’t, and every day since then I’ve been telling myself it’s too much too soon. I told myself if I didn’t bite my tongue I’d push you away, but I realize now that’s exactly what I’ve managed to do anyway.”

“You’re saying you were only acting like we were casual because, what, you thought that was all I could want from you?” Tony scoffed, but Steve could see the barest spark of hope in his eyes. He wanted to believe it. He just needed some help to get there.

“It was stupid,” Steve agreed, taking the smallest step closer. “Incredibly stupid.”

“Monumentally.” Tony didn’t move away. Steve took another step.

“Colossally.” Another step and they’d be close enough to touch. “I’ve just—I’ve been trying so hard to pretend I don’t take this as seriously as I do that I forgot how that might make you feel if you felt the same way. I don’t think it occurred to me that you could.”

“What, because Tony Stark couldn’t possibly care about the person he’s sleeping with?” Tony said bitterly.

“Because when Steve Rogers cares about someone he doesn’t usually get to keep them.” Steve extended a hand. When Tony didn’t immediately jerk away, he closed his around Tony’s. “My mom, Bucky, Peggy…I’m used to having the people I care about taken away from me. It makes a person cautious.”

“And I’m used to having the people I care about care less about me,” Tony admitted. “It makes a person...defensive.”

“You weren’t wrong to be.” Steve squeezed his hand. “I didn’t mean to and I would never want to, but I know I hurt you. If you give me the chance I won’t let that happen again.”

“That so?” Tony gave him the smallest sliver of a smile.

“I can’t promise you’ll never get hurt, or even that it won’t be from me,” Steve admitted, smiled a little back at him. “Mostly because as we’ve already established I’m kind of a colossal idiot sometimes.”

“Just sometimes?”

“Hey.” Steve grinned. Tony shrugged unapologetically but was smiling in earnest now. Steve dared to reach his free hand up, stroke a thumb over Tony’s cheek. Tony didn’t move away, and Steve finally let himself hope this was fixable after all. “But I do promise that I take this seriously, and I won’t make the same mistake twice. I’m all in, I’ve always been all in, and I promise that from now on you’re sure as hell going to know it. I meant it when I said I love you.”

“I think technically you said you’ve loved me since our first date,” Tony pointed out.

“I did,” Steve agreed.

Tony bit his lip to keep from laughing. “Our first date was kind of a disaster.”

“Kind of?” Steve laughed outright. “I tripped on my way to the bathroom and almost clotheslined two separate waiters, you set off the fire alarm when you knocked over those candles—”

“ _You_ knocked over the candles—”

“Well, you spilled the drinks—”

“After you set off the fire alarm!” Tony insisted.

“After I set off the fire alarm,” Steve agreed with a smile. “And you just laughed. It was a terrible first date, but you laughed. You laughed and you kissed me even though the night wasn’t over like you couldn’t stand to wait, and I…at the time I couldn’t remember the last time someone made me feel like I was _interesting_. Like I was enjoyable company worth going out with, worth liking for more than being Captain America. So, yes. I fell in love with you on our first date.”

“Steve, I’ve forgotten more people than most people ever meet.” Tony squeezed his hand. “And that’s bitten me in the ass more than once, but it also means you should believe me when I tell you you’re not interesting, you’re fucking fascinating.”

“Tony—”

“No, really. Do you know how many snoozefest dates I’ve gone on? More than I can count, certainly more than I can remember. Do you know many dates I’ve gone on where someone accidentally set our table on fire?”

“Three?” Steve teased.

“Just the one.” Tony ran a hand up Steve’s chest, rested it over the back of his neck. “So yeah, I fell a little bit in love with you too.”

“Just a little bit, huh?”

“Shut up.” Tony pulled him into an impatient kiss. To Steve’s dismay, it was broken off just as quickly. “And don’t think this means you don’t still have to tell me all those things you’ve been holding back. I really—I put a lot of myself out there, you know, personal stuff—”

“Open book,” Steve swore, nodding hastily. “Anything you want to know and plenty you won’t even think of, I’ll tell you. I promise. I want to. I want you to know everything about me, I always did. Just wasn't sure if that was something you wanted."

“Well, I think we're pretty clear now on what I want.” Tony lifted his chin, always so very brave. “How about what you want? You said the joke was untrue, so did you...do you want to officially move in with me, then?"

“The joke wasn't entirely untrue, moving in _is_ one step closer to marriage,” Steve pointed out. Tony sucked in a breath that looked about turn angry and Steve quickly finished with, “Which I’d like to go on record saying I could very much imagine.”

Tony softened in surprise. “You could?”

“I could. I’d also very much like to officially move in with you, though I should probably tell you there’s not a lot left to move.”

“Like I don’t already know.” Tony grinned, pleased. “Maybe if you didn’t leave your shit all over the counter there might be some mystery left about it.”

“I have rushed mornings, why can’t I put it all away after I use it again at night? It’s more efficient that way—”

“Don’t even start with the efficiency crap. If you have enough time for a morning blowie, you have enough time to cap your toothpaste.”

"One of those things is clearly more important than the other.”

“Maybe one of those things should become dependent on the other,” Tony teased.

“Have I not mentioned my new commitment to capping my toothpaste in the mornings?”

“And hanging your towels up when you’re finished,” Tony added. “You’re _very_ committed to that, I know how concerned you get about leaving wet towels on the bathroom floor where I can slip on them repeatedly.”

“I don’t think twice warrants a ‘repeatedly’—”

“Twice so far, but fine, have it your way. But when I fall and break my hip, you’re the sucker who’ll have to take care of me. And I’m a _terrible_ patient, ask Pepper—or god, Rhodey. Our friendship only just barely survived the flu of ’93.”

Steve couldn’t resist pulling Tony a little closer, squeezing him tight in the circle of his arms with an indulgent smile. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”


	59. Denny's Meet Cute AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has got to stop snooping. It's fairly rude, and probably a bit morally gray. Also he's bad at it.

Steve spots them from a mile away.

The Denny’s he works at is sub-par even by lame chain restaurant standards, but he gets the feeling this group would stand out in any crowd. They’re dressed nicely and have good manners, so that’s abnormal in and of itself, but it’s mostly their energy; they all seem to be the best of friends, and their approachable enthusiasm draws everyone around them in on the joke.

It doesn’t hurt that they’re all more than a little attractive, but it’s the guy with the ridiculous goatee Steve somehow can’t take his eyes off of. Steve is typically wary of people with an excess of charisma—it tends to make him feel like he’s being conned—but goatee guy is hard to ignore. He comes across as eccentric yet genuine, a combination Steve can’t help but find oddly charming. Steve thinks the guy is flirting with him a little when he takes their orders, but Steve’s always had a hard time telling ‘nice’ from ‘interested’ so he’s careful not to be unprofessional in his responses. He gets everyone’s names at least, so that’s not nothing.

Later, while he’s picking up their meals from the kitchen, he hears Tony’s voice. Unfortunately, because of how small the building is, if the kitchen is quiet you can hear pretty much anything said in the men’s bathrooms. They’ve complained a number of times but of course management won’t shell out to fix it. They usually play music over it, but Nat’s on break and apparently took her iPod with her.

“— with you, right?” Steve can’t quite make out the full sentence, but it sounds like Rhodey speaking.

Steve hears a scoffing noise, then Tony’s voice again. “Please, he was being friendly.”

“Whatever you say, Tones.” There’s a beat of silence. “Bet if we told him it’s your birthday he’d bring out a whole cake.”

“Oh, come  _on—”_

“Guy like that?” What’s that supposed to mean? “He totally would.”

“It’s not even _close_  to my birthday—”

“He doesn’t know that.”

“…you really think he’d bring a whole cake?”

“Please. The guy was all apple pie and sunshine, he’s obviously—”

“Do you usually snoop on customers in the bathroom, or is there something I’m missing here?”

Steve jumps half a foot in the air and drops both plates. “Shit—”

“Shit’s right, you better clean that mess up.” His boss pauses to eye him warily, squinting a little. “You’re lucky you’re a hard worker. I’m gonna discount this as a one-time bout of insanity, but if I catch you doing any more weird shit like this we’re gonna need to have a talk.”

Something about Nick always makes Steve want to salute. He settles for a quick, “Yes sir, won’t happen again, I swear.”

By the time Steve finishes cleaning up the dropped food and putting in a replacement order, he finds himself more than a little irritated. What did Rhodey mean, calling him a “guy like that”? “All apple pie and sunshine”? Just because he smiled on the job he was some kind of sucker now? A big enough sucker, apparently, to give away a whole cake, because he’s “obviously” stupid, or a pushover, or whatever else Rhodey had been about to say. Well. He’s a lot of things, but a pushover isn’t one of them.

By the time he gets to the table, he’s practically itching to do something about it. It had mostly been Rhodey talking, but Tony had definitely gone along with it and Steve can’t believe he was ever kind-of-sort-of attracted to the stupid jerk in the first place.

“You know,” Tony starts as Steve sets his plate down, in what he must think is a subtle sort of way but Steve can now only see as obnoxiously obvious. “Today’s actually my birthday.”

“Oh, blow me,” Steve snaps.

Which is possibly not the best response, judging by the table full of wide eyes he gets in return. Bucky says it all the time, but it’s belatedly occurring to Steve that Bucky is a strange person who swears in strange ways and may not actually be a good person to look to for common vernacular. He’s not entirely sure if ‘fuck me’ would’ve gone over worse or better. ‘Fuck off’ might’ve been his best option, but then, swearing at customers wasn’t necessarily a great idea to begin with. He’s still staring back at them dumbly when Tony clears his throat.

“Alright.”

Steve’s pretty sure he heard that wrong. “What?”

“I said alright. As in ‘yes’, ‘okay’, ‘done deal’.” Tony shrugs, grins a little. “Did you want a please, or…?”

“Tony!” Pepper elbows him.

“I’m kidding, Pep, honestly.” Tony pats her arm placatingly, even as he mouths to Steve, _I’m definitely not._

“Uh.”

“Unless that’s not your speed.” Tony, seeming to sense some hesitance, starts backtracking. “In which case, I was completely and totally kidding, because who would blow a stranger in a Denny’s, that’s the kind of truly terrible life decisions I’m definitely not at all known for making frequently—”

Pepper puts her face in her hands. “Please stop talking.”

“This is going even better than I hoped, honestly,” Rhodey says with a grin, which only manages to confuse Steve even more.

“Hoped? You’re the one who thought I was an idiot,” Steve accuses. At least now everyone looks as confused as Steve feels, which he supposes is something.

“I don’t think you’re an idiot,” Rhodey disagrees, though it sounds like he’s reevaluating that statement. Something seems to dawn on him. “Wait, could you hear us in the bathroom?”

“What?” Happy makes a face.

“Maybe a little,” Steve admits, willing down a blush. He did nothing wrong, it was— “Completely unintentional, the walls are just really thin.”

“So you heard what I said,” Rhodey says slowly.

“I got the gist.” Steve shrugs awkwardly. This is the weirdest conversation he’s had in a long time, and with the friends he has that’s saying something.

“So you got the part where I said you were totally flirting with my boy Tony over here?” Rhodey claps a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “And how you were obviously into him?”

Okay, Steve may actually be a complete and total idiot.

“I, um. May have missed that part.”

Rhodey grins. “Thought you might’ve.”

“Weirdest fake birthday ever,” Tony chimes in. He glances at Steve, seeming to check how he’s taking it all, before adding, “Though if your offer still stands, I could see it taking a turn for the better.”

Steve can’t help himself. “You really want to blow me in a Denny’s?”

“He knows we’re still sitting here, right?” Happy asks Pepper, who has yet to remove her face from her hands.

“I can’t take you people anywhere.”

Tony ignores her, glances around. “I mean, I’d prefer somewhere a little less…”

“Public?” Steve offers.

“Hard-surfaced,” Tony notes with a glance at the tile. “Not at all like my apartment, which coincidentally has a very soft carpet if you were wondering—”

“That was possibly the least smooth transition I’ve ever seen,” Rhodey comments.

“Are you on my team here or not?” Tony shoots back.

“If you want me on your team you have to do better than that.”

“I’m doing fine! Hell, Steve here wants me to blow him so bad he asked for it in the middle of a restaurant—”

“That’s definitely not what happened,” Steve interjects.

“Are you sure? That’s how I remember it.” Tony grins at him, and Steve finds he doesn’t regret any of the weird turns this ridiculous night has taken. It’s probably why he can’t help what he says next.

“Trust me, when I want you to blow me you’ll know it.”

Pepper groans into her hands. Happy laughs loudly, Rhodey looks unreasonably pleased, and Tony throws his wallet on the table as he stands abruptly.

“Bye everyone, it’s been fun. See you in a week, maybe a month, possibly never—”

“I have three hours left on my shift,” Steve adds apologetically, though he can’t help laughing a little at Tony’s enthusiasm.

“I see.” Tony blinks. “Right. Obviously. Because you work here.”

“Get his number, Tony,” Pepper prompts. “Call him and make plans later, preferably when none of us are within earshot.”

“Good call.” Tony digs into his pockets. “Good call, good call, that’s why I keep you around, Pep, you’re the true genius, I’m just—aha! There we go, would you…? If you want, I—”

“Here.” Steve’s probably smiling like an idiot, but Tony’s the one who almost fumbles his phone passing it over, so he feels like maybe he’s doing okay. “I’m off at 9.”

He nearly adds  _wanna get me off at 9:30?_ but it feels like maybe that’s a stretch too far.

“Really? Well, I can get you off at—” Tony starts, but even Rhodey groans this time.

Steve grins though, and Tony grins right back.


	60. Friends with benefits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyric prompt: “I don’t want you to get it on with nobody else but me.” Warnings: some fairly nsfw bits.

It started in probably the stupidest way possible.

That was to say, it started with a brojob.

Not that Tony went around using that particular phrase often or anything. For all that he could act immature at times he wasn’t actually twenty-one anymore, he was never in a fraternity to begin with, and whether he wanted to admit it or not the whole “bro-everything” slang phenomenon was a little past his time. He’d only even just heard of it, which was his main excuse for why the phrase ever even popped into his brain to begin with.

Steve was just so stressed out. To be fair, saving the world was a stressful gig and none of them led particularly calm lives, but lately…lately it’d been bad. Sokovia Accords bad. Part of it was the way Steve kept everything bottled up until he physically couldn’t hold it back any longer; by the time Tony convinced him to talk about it, Steve had hours worth of stress to let out. Of course Tony was happy to listen, he wasn’t complaining, he just felt so damn helpless about it all. Steve was exhausted and stressed and worried, and as desperately as Tony wanted to help, he didn’t have the slightest idea how to actually go about doing that. So when Steve leaned against him a little and sighed, said quietly that he just wished he could stop thinking about it all for even a couple of seconds, well.

The rest was history.

“I could blow you?”

Steve’s eyes went more than a little wide, and Tony panicked immediately.

“Like—in a friendly way, as a friend helping out a friend, a brojob—”

“A what?” He couldn’t tell if Steve was about to laugh or leave.

“A brojob?” He winced. “It’s something I read on twitter once, pretend I didn’t say that, but you get the, uh, gist, right? As friends? I mean, I’m kind of an expert on racing minds and thinking too much and orgasms always help me shut things up for a few minutes so I just thought—”

“Okay,” Steve interrupted, and…what?

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” Steve shrugged a little. “Okay. It can’t hurt, right?”

Oh, it definitely could. “Nope.”

“Should I…?”

“Oh, were you thinking—”

“Did you mean later? I could come back—”

“No, now is—now’s fine.” They were in his own suite at least, no privacy concerns. “No reason not to, just go ahead and…”

Tony made a weird hand gesture that was supposed to mean get comfortable, but judging by Steve’s expression it had been more confusing than anything else. Words were failing him for some reason. Being about to give the guy he was in love with a platonic blowjob might have had something to do with that. Steve leaned back on the couch while Tony slid off and onto his knees, belatedly starting to wonder if he even remembered how to give a blowjob. It was like riding a bike, right? Right.

“Do you want a pillow for your knees, or—?”

“Yeah, that’d be—” Tony nodded. Steve was already handing him one. “Great, thanks.”

“No problem.”

“Do you want to, uh.” Tony made another vague gesture, this time in the direction of Steve’s covered crotch.

“Oh! Yeah, I can—” Steve nodded hastily, started unzipping his pants.

He could do this. No reason he couldn’t, he’d only fantasized about it several hundred times. In fact, now that he thought about it, this wasn’t a half bad idea. The phrasing had been weird and it was awkward to start, but if Tony put some effort into this, made it an enjoyable thing…Steve could potentially come back for more. If he gave a good enough performance here he might even be able to sideline his way into a friends with benefits kind of deal, which was frankly more than he’d ever really dared to hope for with Steve. He could be happy with that.

It was hard to judge one’s own performance, but Tony was going to guess from Steve’s breathless gasps and the shaky hands running through his hair that he was probably doing something right. Soon enough Steve was outright tugging, so Tony lifted his chin to make eye contact.

He looked—god. Tony couldn’t quite breathe for a moment over the heady rush of desire, had to bite his lip to keep from saying something very stupid. Steve looked more dazed than Tony had ever seen him. His cheeks were bright red with exertion, lips parted on a gasp, eyes half-lidded as he met Tony’s gaze.

“I’m—” Steve’s eyes closed a moment as Tony’s hand slid over him, then stuttered back open. “I’m going to—”

“Great,” Tony said easily, ran one hand comfortingly over Steve’s thigh as he bent back down.

“But you—is that—can I—” Steve was probably trying to ask permission, but didn’t seem able to manage more than two words into any version. He gave up when Tony turned the enthusiasm up a notch and drew Steve forward encouragingly by the hips.

Steve had hardly finished before he was pulling Tony up, first with a tug of his hair, then the collar of his shirt, then by a scrambled grabbing of his waist that hauled him squarely into Steve’s lap. Tony had barely a moment to register the shift before Steve was kissing him, really kissing him, even pulling him closer by the thighs and curving up to press against him. Once he had Tony near, his hands stopped fumbling long enough to go for Tony’s zipper.

“Oh, no.” Tony shifted a little, trying to find some way to hide how ridiculously ready to go he was, but they were touching pretty much everywhere and Steve’s hand was still resting over his clothed dick, so. “You don’t need to do that.”

“Seriously?” Steve laughed breathlessly. “Tony—”

“No, really,” Tony insisted, because the surprise kissing alone was frying his brain a little and he had genuinely never meant to guilt Steve into reciprocating anything. “That was—it was for you, because you were stressed out. You don’t need to do anything. We’re friends, I just wanted to help.”

“Mission accomplished.” Steve touched his thumb to Tony’s lower lip, drew it down. His gaze lingered there. Rational thought left the building for a moment. “As friends, then.”

Steve’s fingers went back to undoing his zipper with renewed focus, and any further protest Tony might’ve attempted to summon was shut down when Steve started kissing him again, because really, where did he get off kissing like that? Impassioned and earnest and dirty all at once, like this was the kissing Olympics and he wasn’t leaving with anything short of the gold. Right when Tony had just about managed to get a handle on it, Steve drew back and went to his knees.

Tony never did quite manage to get a handle on  _that_.

Not the first time, certainly, and definitely not the times after. They never quite clarified any sort of intentions about their situation—after Steve finished blowing him Tony lasted about three silent seconds before high-fiving him awkwardly, blurting something about workshop emergencies, and bolting immediately—but it was pretty obvious that they’d officially entered into new territory.

If he hadn’t been sure at first, it was made pretty clear when Steve showed up outside his suite the next day, scratching the back of his neck and saying something vague about stress.

“And yesterday…helped?” Tony offered cautiously.

“Definitely,” Steve said quickly, leaning into the doorway a little. “And I was thinking about, you know, what hectic lives we lead, the responsibilities we have and the pressure we’re under, and I don’t know about you, but I, uh. I get stressed a lot. And you were right, yesterday really helped, so I thought maybe—well, if you were up for it—”

Tony hooked a finger in his waistband and hauled him inside.

It didn’t take long to figure out this might not stay as simple as Tony had planned. Adrenaline and panic made leaving easy enough the first few times, but once they started pushing through the awkward aftermath and hanging out post-blowie, it was all downhill from there. By the end of the first month Tony could hardly go two days without finding a reason to “de-stress” with Steve, and that was while trying to show some restraint. Steve was no better, at least. Or so Tony was telling himself.

Month two they sat down, had a rational discussion about how this wasn’t really for stress, and decided that friends with benefits was more accurate and could potentially include things other than blowjobs.

That’s the lie he told Rhodey, anyway.

What actually happened fell more along the lines of Steve giving an exceptional blowie, Tony blurting something about “oh god, fuck me” halfway through, and Steve sitting back enough to offer far too casually, “I could do that”. Tony’s heart may have actually stopped for a beat or two there.

It was good, mostly. Alright it was fantastic, mostly, but there was still that little part of him that couldn’t quite stop hoping for more. The part that reminded him Steve didn’t really want him to stay the night even though he offered, that he secretly did mind the way Tony clung a little during sex, and most of all, that wanting someone to get off with didn’t mean for a second Steve shared his feelings.

Unsurprisingly, it culminated with him drinking unrecommended amounts of alcohol at a party. Not MIT amounts or anything, but certainly more than he had in recent years. So he was drunk, and already composing something about the inherent stressfulness of parties so he could haul Steve upstairs by that ridiculously delightful Star Wars tie—the one he was obviously wearing specifically so Tony would do just that, Steve  _knew_ what he was doing—when he finally spotted him again.

Sneaking off with someone else.

And that—he couldn’t let that hurt, he knew what they were doing, knew Steve was young and handsome and infuriatingly amazing, Tony was never going to hold his interest for long, but, well. He’d thought he had longer. He’d thought he’d get to taper things off first, have a chance to brace himself for this moment. He should’ve known better. His life didn’t work like that.

Alcohol still buzzing in his system, he followed them up the stairs before he could realize what a truly terrible idea that was.

He heard snippets of conversation as he got closer, something about…lawyers, property damage, whatever. Probably keeping cover until they made it to privacy. He reached the top of the stairs just in time to watch the third door on the left click closed. He stormed over, then…paused.

What the hell was he doing? Steve and he weren’t anything real, he had no right to go bursting in on him and whoever just because he was petty and jealous. He definitely, absolutely did not have the right to lean in and press his ear against the door to find out if Steve was doing the same breathy little half-sentences thing he always did with Tony whenever they snuck off, like he’d been waiting for ages and whatever was happening just wasn’t enough yet.  _Here,_ _c’mere—I need to—can you—_

All he heard was a bunch of nonsense about the Avengers, something about private funding and jurisdictions, then mid-sentence, nothing. A whisper, maybe? Just as Tony leaned closer, the door fell out from under him. He stumbled, threw out his hands. Onto to Steve’s chest.

“Tony?”

“Uh.” Tony blinked slowly. Removed his hands, though he couldn’t help taking some satisfaction in noticing Steve was still wearing a shirt. He glanced over Steve’s shoulder. Library. Fully clothed, in a library, talking about Avengers business…

This may not have been what he thought it was.

“Why were you…?” Steve gave a confused, concerned sort of frown. “Is everything okay?”

“That’s our library,” Tony said, still stupidly relieved.

Steve leaned in a little closer, looking Tony over before asking slowly, “What did you think it was?”

“Dunno.” Tony shrugged, going for nonchalant. It probably just looked sloppy.

Steve watched him another moment, before turning to address his guest.

“Mr. Murdock, why don’t you give me a call sometime tomorrow? I have something to take care of here.”

“Say no more.” A man moved out from behind Steve, navigated smoothly around them both. “I’ll be in touch.”

Tony stared after that “Murdock” guy moodily. He had a nice ass. Tony wasn’t too sorry he’d interrupted after all, who knows what that meeting could have devolved into.

“Tony?” Steve said gently. It sounded like he might have been repeating himself.

Tony gave another messy shrug, swaying a little as he did. He didn’t expect Steve to right him and he didn’t. He pulled Tony to him instead. Confused and mildly alarmed, Tony went still. This probably wasn’t real. He’d had a lot to drink, after all.

“Let’s get you to bed, okay?”

Steve smiled a little as he gave Tony’s waist a squeeze before tangling their fingers together and leading the way. The gesture was sweet, but Tony knew how this went. This was the brush-off. The part where the old drunk got poured into bed, maybe patted on the back and left some painkillers if Steve was feeling generous. Grateful for even that much, he followed along like the hopeless fool he was.

Only after Steve poured him into bed, he started taking his suit off.

Tony propped himself up a little. Squinted at him. “What’re you doing?”

“What, I’m gonna leave you alone?” Steve shook his head as he folded his jacket over the chair. “I want to talk about what just happened tomorrow, and the way I see it, the best way to keep you from avoiding me all day is to be right here when you wake up.”

“You’re the worst,” Tony mumbled into his pillow. Just strategy, then.

“You keep using that word, I don’t think it means what you think it means,” Steve teased.

“Wooorst,” Tony repeated louder, because fuck Steve for using all his favorite shit against him. Which reminded him… “Why’d you wear that stupid tie tonight, anyway?”

Steve shrugged a little stiffly, ran his hand over it. “Thought you said you liked Star Wars.”

“I do. You don’t.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it, I said I haven’t seen it yet.” Steve rubbed his thumb over the end, the little resistance logo. “I thought maybe I’d wait to watch it with you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, Tony.” Steve tossed him a smile, but he seemed tired more than anything else. “You.”

What the hell was he supposed to do with that?

Sex, he decided. Sex solved everything. He rolled onto his back and started wiggling out of what remained of his clothes.

“What are you doing?” Steve glanced at him.

“You’re here, I’m here…” Tony tossed his shirt to the side and laid back on the bed, trying for enticing as he kicked off his pants.

Steve shook his head dismissively like it wasn’t even a thought. “That’s not why I’m here. Besides, you’re drunk.”

Tony grinned, sharp, as he slipped his underwear off. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Steve stared at him. Just not, unfortunately, where Tony wanted him to stare. “It’s not about—this isn’t a joke, do you really think I’d have sex with you right now?”

“No?” Tony guessed.

Steve sighed. He sat on the bed, leaned across to pull Tony in by the back of the neck and kiss his forehead. “No. Get in bed, okay? I’ll be right back.”

“You don’t have to.” Tony glanced down. It was easier than making eye contact, though he did kind of wish he’d kept his underwear on. “Come back, I mean. If you want to talk tomorrow we can, I’ll—I won’t avoid you.”

“I won’t stay if you don’t want me to.” Steve reached between them to clasp a hand over Tony’s knee. “But I’d like to.”

“Okay,” Tony said. His head was starting to hurt. The alcohol was wearing off, but he got the feeling that even if he’d been sober this would’ve been one of the more confusing conversations he’d had in a while.

“Okay,” Steve echoed. He gave Tony’s knee a quick squeeze, then stood up.

“I’m gonna…” Tony cleared his throat, reached for his underwear.

“Probably a good idea.”

He didn’t expect sleep to come easy, but once his head hit the pillow exhaustion took over. The combined ten hours he’d gotten over the past week probably didn’t help. By the time Steve returned from his bathroom with a bottle of painkillers and a glass of water, Tony was halfway to unconscious. He registered footsteps across the room, then by his bed. Fingers carding softly in his hair. Footsteps around to the other side of the bed, rustling covers. A hand on his back.

“Tony?”

“Mm?”

“Is it alright, if I…” Steve didn’t finish, but the hand on his back moved to touch his waist. Too tired to overthink it, Tony nodded into his pillow and scooted back into the embrace. Steve’s arms tightened around him.

He woke up four hours later, sober. Painfully hungover, but sober. Sober enough to understand the consequences of his actions. Sober enough to understand what turning down sex and offering to hold him for the night meant, what  _I want to talk about what just happened tomorrow_ meant. He usually hated pity. Now he just hated himself for how badly he wanted it, how easily he’d accepted it. Even now all he wanted to do was curl back up in Steve’s arms and pretend he could sleep, pretend this was normal, that it was something he got to keep.

He rolled away from Steve. Watched him sleep for a moment, lulled by the soft rise and fall of his chest, the calm in his expression. He traced his thumb over Steve’s cheek. This was over tomorrow. He needed to get on board with that for everyone’s sake, but for now, just for a moment…he could let it hurt. Let it ache, let it tear through and break him apart now so that tomorrow he could be reasonable, make things easy on everyone.  _Sure, Steve. We don’t need to do this anymore. I’m not as stressed these days anyway, let’s just call it._

Nope. Nope, not ready, not now, maybe not—

“Wha’s wrong?” Steve mumbled without opening his eyes.

“Nothing.” Tony sucked in a breath, sucked back everything he never should’ve let himself start thinking about. God, this was a terrible idea. Why had he ever thought he could do this? “Nothing, Steve, go back to sleep.”

Steve’s eyes slid open. He still seemed half-asleep at first, but once his gaze focused in on Tony he quickly looked more alert. “What? What is it, nightmares?”

“No, nothing like that, I just—don’t worry about it, I’m fine.”

“Okay.” Steve said easily, scooting up so he could sit behind Tony on the edge of the bed and rub a hand over his back.

“You don’t have to—”

“Do you want anything? I left water by the bed,” Steve pointed out.

“No, that’s—” Tony had to stop talking for a moment and just breathe, because god, this was all he wanted. For Steve to just...care about him like this, even for a moment. “I’m okay.”

“Okay,” Steve said softly, leaning in and pressing a kiss to Tony’s shoulder before resting his head there.

“I can’t do this, Steve,” Tony whispered. It was too much, too close to what he wanted to be anything but painful.

“This?”

Tony shifted away. “I know I—I told you a lot of things, stupid things, about brojobs and friends with benefits, but I really—I thought I could do this! I did. But I obviously can't. And it sounds like you know that, since you want to talk tomorrow, and I know you’re trying to be nice right now but I just...can’t do this.”

The hand on his back had been still since he’d started speaking. Slowly it dropped away, and Steve brought his other up to reach between them and hold Tony’s own. “That’s not what I meant when I said we should talk.”

“This isn’t as nice as you think it is either,” Tony said quietly, raising their linked hands.

“I’m not trying to be nice.” Steve squeezed his hand pointedly. “I’m trying to tell you I don’t want this to be over.”

Tony winced. “Steve, I really—”

“I like you,” Steve interrupted, insistent. “I like being with you, I like…god, everything about you. And maybe it’s me, I haven’t done anything like this before, but I—the way we are when we’re together, it doesn’t feel…casual, to me. And it doesn’t feel like it’s casual for you either. Earlier tonight sort of solidified that, for me, and I…I wanted to talk to you tomorrow to see if maybe we could stop cheating ourselves out of something real if that’s what this is.”

“Real?” Tony echoed.

“Real.” Steve smiled, soft and earnest and so much more than Tony deserved, but he was too tired and too hopeful to fight that battle tonight.

He leaned into Steve and kissed him. Steve returned it without hesitation, squeezing Tony’s hand as he did. They traded kisses and soft smiles until they fell back asleep, arms and legs tangled up together this time in a comfortable bunch. It might’ve been the most saccharinely sweet moment of Tony’s life, but for once he couldn’t bring himself to be dismissive.

He was too happy to even try.


	61. College AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyric prompt: “I wanna fall in love tonight." Warnings: none.

Steve had always been there for him.

Through every high and low, every rough break-up and hopeful new romance, every career-making success and frustrating setback, Steve had always been right there next to him. Tony didn’t have too many people like that; he could count them on one hand. Since college, Steve had been among the few people in Tony’s life he could truly count on, people who were genuine with him and didn’t take his shit, people who supported and believed in him. So it was cliché as hell, but for a long time Tony was genuinely terrified of losing that.

They’d had a moment once, back in college. Couldn’t have met too long before. Long enough to know each other, short enough not to worry about losing each other. Hanging out in Steve’s dorm room after a party, or maybe instead of it—Tony remembered the taste of shitty beer and how they’d argued for an hour over whose party mix was better and for what reasons. Almost a decade later now, he couldn’t name a single song on either playlist. He remembered the one playing when Steve leaned in, though. Not the name or any of the words, of course, that would’ve helpful, but the tune might as well have been tattooed on his brain. It was the tune to the moment Steve made purposeful eye contact and leaned forward. It was the tune playing when he felt the thrill of their shoulders bumping together, the zing of electricity as Steve’s hand hesitantly brushed his knee before he closed his eyes.

It was the tune playing as a key jostled in the lock, the click as it turned and—Bucky? Sam? God, he couldn’t even remember—one of Steve’s roommates came back from wherever they’d been. The three of them drank and listened to music and talked awkwardly for barely another half hour until Tony made some excuse to leave. He didn’t remember his excuse, either, that was vastly overwhelmed by the rush of shame as he left, the embarrassment and guilt and second-guessing, how he was sure he’d read into everything and he was an idiot for thinking anything else.

He’d been wrong, obviously. He’d been young and infatuated and it had been easy to think it was all a big hoax, but of course Steve had been making a move and of course Tony had been leaning plenty himself. They’d joked about it a couple times in the years since. The surprising turns life takes, and all that. How crazy would that have been, insert laughter here. Could you even imagine, pull an eye roll there. We must’ve been sooo drunk, because man, you and me? Certainly haven’t been thinking about it on and off for the past decade, no sir.

Except, well.

Which wasn’t to say Tony had been pining, exactly. That implied something conscious. It’d just been a thought. A low burn in the back of his mind, an idea of how his life could’ve been. A coulda-shoulda-woulda moment. Something that flared up sometimes when Steve hugged him a little too long, looked at him just a little too softly, smiled at him just a little too intimately. Something possessive. Something that said,  _this should’ve been mine._

Thing was, Tony was kind of sick of thinking in should’ves. His life wasn’t on hold, he didn’t have any big regrets, but neither of them had managed any great love-of-my-life relationships, either. He couldn’t speak for Steve, but it was possible he himself had been playing it a little safe. Holding some of himself back, unconsciously waiting for a second chance at that should’ve.

Which was frankly just stupid.

Did he want to spend his whole life wondering what could’ve been? Why was he wasting his time thinking about all the time that had passed, or the moments missed? They weren’t dead. They were barely thirty. Steve was one his best friends, besides. He wasn’t going to dropkick Tony out of his life for suggesting they could be more. Steve had felt that way about him once, clearly, and cared about him as a friend now if nothing else. They’d work it out. But things were never going to change, never going to be the way he wanted them to be if he didn’t  _ask._

“I have to say, I’m a little worried,” Steve admitted. Tony’s train of thought rerouted.

“Worried? Why?”

“Well…” Steve shrugged, lifted the beer Tony had offered him. “I don’t think you’ve bought this brand since college, for starters, and you gagged last time it was offered to you. You also invited me over ‘to talk’, and now you seem like you’re trying pretty hard to figure out how to say something. Seems important. Is everything okay, is the company still in the black?”

“Yes, no, of course,” Tony blurted quickly. “No, I—it’s not about the company, SI is doing great. That’s—yeah, the beer is just—nostalgia, y’know? We drank this shit all the time in college.”

He’d wanted to be clear without being pushy, so he’d recreated the night a little bit. Sans terrible dorm room furniture and possible roommates walking in, of course, and they were sitting on the couch instead of a bed, but at least they had cheap beer and Steve’s iPod. It was probably even playing the same music it had in college—what other excuse was there for still having the Black-Eyed Peas on your iPod these days?—because when Steve decided he liked something he tended to cling to it for the next several thousand years, no matter how many times caring friends offered to update his ridiculously out-of-date music library for free.

“Kinda thought we stopped for a reason,” Steve pointed out.

“We definitely did,” Tony agreed, putting his own down. Nostalgia was one thing, food poisoning was another. “I just—yeah. Recreating a moment, kind of.”

“A moment?” Confusion furrowed Steve’s brow.

Something about Steve’s confusion sent panic racing through Tony’s system. Like a flood of adrenaline in reverse, he found himself regretting everything and scrambling for some kind of plan to cover his true intentions. Something to tell Steve that didn’t end in  _so hey this is ten years too late but do you maybe you wanna ruin our friendship by going out sometime? No? Cool, me neither._

“Yeah, y’know, a callback to the glory days, when we were young and stupid and—” He was about to get started on a truly epic rant, he could feel the build of it as he sucked in a breath, until the song switched.

He’d kind of tuned the music out, over-played stuff he hadn’t even been a fan of back then, but he recognized this one. The drum intro, the burst of guitar—this was the song. The song he’d been trying to think of for days, months,  _years_ , the one he couldn’t remember the name of for the life of him.

He stopped abruptly and must’ve been making some kind of face, because now Steve looked startled too.

“What? Is it the song?”

“Uh.” Tony cleared his throat, tried to get some train of thought started back up. “Yeah, I just—I recognize it, I’ve been trying to remember the name of it forever.”

“A Praise Chorus, Jimmy Eat World,” Steve offered. After a beat, he added a little awkwardly, “It’s, uh. It’s the song that was playing that time I made a move on you in college, so. That might be where you recognize it from.”

“Is that where it’s from?” Tony’s voice was definitely not meant to sound like that.

“Yeah.” Steve laughed, awkwardness loosening up a little. “Yeah, I timed it and everything. It’s got those lines, you know, like ‘are you gonna keep wasting your time’, ‘gotta make a move or you’ll miss out’, stuff like that. I needed the push.”

“Yeah. I, uh…” Tony took a breath. He could do this. “I think I know what you mean.”

He brushed his hand over Steve’s knee, like Steve had done to him all those years ago. He made purposeful eye contact, watched Steve suck in a surprised breath, gave him plenty of time to recover, reject, pull away. He didn’t. Tony leaned in a little further, finally—

“Damn it, Tony, you can’t keep stealing all my good polo shirts.” Rhodey entered the apartment already mid-rant, only pausing to slap Steve good-naturedly on the shoulder as he passed the couch on his way into Tony’s bedroom. “Hey, Steve. Look, Tony, SI is doing great, I know you can afford your own. And I know, I know, you hate them, don’t want to own them, but that doesn’t mean you can just steal mine every time you have a meeting on the golf course. Besides, you never wash them and they always come back with weird-ass stains, if you’re going to borrow my clothes you have to at least wash them, preferably dry-clean—”

An hour ago, Tony would’ve said he was a mature adult, beyond feeling ashamed or wrong-footed after an unsuccessful romantic gesture. He would’ve been very wrong. The hot, embarrassing rush of emotion was all too familiar and he started to pull away, give Steve his space back, but Steve grabbed his shirt and yanked.

There was a little too much momentum and the first was more bump than kiss, but the second and third try were much better. Gentler, albeit no less urgent. Steve seemed particularly unwilling to release his death grip on Tony’s shirt. Tony cupped his hand, rubbed his thumb over the back of Steve’s knuckles in a soothing motion he hoped might somehow convey his complete unwillingness to be anywhere but here. Steve made a sweetly pleased sound at his touch before finally relaxing a little, and Tony vowed to tease that sound out of him as many times as was humanly possible.

_All I need is just to hear a song I know / I wanna always feel like part of this was mine / I wanna fall in love tonight._

“Damn, are you guys really listening to Jimmy Eat World? Haven’t heard this song since college. What’s with nostalgia night, are you—oh. Shit, did I interrupt date night? Well, at least now you can knock off the whole ‘we’re just friends’ act, not that anyone ever really bought it.”

Tony blinked. “Uh.”

“What?” Steve managed.

“I mean, come on.” Rhodey scoffed, hoisting his stolen polos over one shoulder. “You can’t actually think you’re subtle.”

“We’re not—well, we weren’t…?” Tony paused to give Steve room to chime in on the phraseology.

“Weren’t,” Steve agreed quickly, nodding. “Weren’t dating.”

“Until…when?” Rhodey asked slowly, seeming to finally catch on. Probably because Tony was beaming like an idiot at the fact that Steve said  _weren’t_ instead of  _aren’t._  “A couple months ago?”

“A couple minutes ago, Colonel Cockblock.” Tony gestured to the door. “So if you’re done collecting your precious shirts, you’re welcome to exit stage left anytime now.”

“You’re kidding.” Rhodey glanced between them. “You’re not kidding. Seriously? You two have got to be the single most obtuse—”

“Why don’t you take some time and email me your thoughts and feelings later? From home? Or pretty much anywhere that isn’t my apartment?” Tony suggested.

“You, call me first thing tomorrow morning.” Rhodey jabbed a finger in Tony’s direction, then Steve’s. “You, make him buy his own damn polo shirts. Also, congratulations.”

Rhodey slammed the door a little on his way out, but it was mostly dramatics. Tony turned to assure Steve of that, but Steve was grabbing and kissing him again before he could get out so much as a single word. Totally acceptable. Preferable, actually, who needed words, this was great—

“Sorry,” Steve breathed between kisses. “Sorry, I couldn’t let it happen all over again, I spent so many years regretting not saying anything or trying a second time or just flat out chasing you down that stupid hallway that I just—”

“I get it.” Tony kissed him once, twice. “Hey, me too, I get it, don’t apologize—”

“I didn’t mean to hit you—”

“Hit me, no, it was barely a bump—”

“Don’t freak out, but your lip is kind of swelling.” Steve delicately brushed his thumb over Tony’s lip and oh, yep, definitely bruised, ow.

“Worth it,” Tony insisted, kissed him again. “You could bruise me the next ten times, it’ll still be worth it.”

“I’ll try not to.” Steve tried and failed to tamp down a smile. Tony kissed it right off his lips.


	62. Fakeiversary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very broke Steve & Tony get in the habit of faking proposals for free dinners. Which is all well and good, until one of them wants to actually propose. Warnings: none.

On their one year anniversary date, the couple at the table next to them gets engaged. Ten minutes later the waiter brings out an enormous slice of cake lined with frosting and rose petals and  _Congratulations!_ spelled out in drizzled chocolate sauce. A single look has them both stumbling to one knee. Tony beats him to the floor, clasps his hands together.

“Steve, baby, darling, love of my life, I know I don’t have a ring, but I just feel so inspired, they’ve clearly got the right idea—will you marry me?”

“Yes!” Steve presses both hands over his heart for a cheesy, ‘omg’ moment. “Oh, a thousand times yes!”

Tony grins as he hops up and pulls Steve into a passionate kiss, both for the onlookers and because boom, they just scored themselves some free cake.

They have to play up the recently engaged bit, but it’s not like that’s hard. It’s their anniversary after all. It’s mostly kind of fun, like reliving the honeymoon phase. They’re also super broke and a little giddy about the prospect of free food, so that helps.

Turns out next week they’re just as broke as they were last week, so Steve proposes halfway through the appetizers. It gets to be tradition pretty quick. They don’t go out particularly often anyway—they’re sharing a studio that probably breaks a dozen fire codes, Steve’s between art gigs and Tony’s working a practically unpaid internship, “super broke” is a light way of putting it—so it’s not like the servers could ever learn to recognize them.

This goes on for years. Steve starts picking up gigs with more regularity, getting paid more than spare change for his hard work. After being strung along for ages, Tony’s internship finally becomes a real job, one that boasts nice enough benefits Steve can get his dislodged shoulder set by a licensed professional instead of their overly-enthusiastic Russian neighbor. Another year and another promotion later, they move into a one bedroom, with room to breathe and a microwave that doesn’t burst into flame if used for more than exactly 17 seconds at a time. The proposals start petering out a little. Maybe once in a while if it’s a non-paycheck week and the budget looks slim, or if Steve’s in a fight with his muse and they’re having a one-income month, but for the most part they’re not too concerned over a couple extra dollars here and there so much anymore.

It still happens sometimes, but it’s been at least six months since their last when Steve goes down on one knee after they finish their meal. It’s a little confusing, since things are actually going pretty great—Steve’s supposed to hear back sometime this week about whether or not he’ll get an amazing exhibit deal he’s been waitlisted for, but even if he doesn’t get it they’re definitely in the black this month—still, free food is free food. Tony puts on his surprised face.

“The past four years have been the best of my life.” Steve beams up at him. He’s better at this than Tony remembered. “Bar none. I know things were hard for a while there, really hard, and I know we fight like cats and dogs sometimes, but you’re just—you’re my one, Tony. You’re the person who brings out the most in me, good bad and ugly. You keep me honest to who I am and who I want to be, and yeah, you drive me crazy sometimes, but damn if that doesn’t make for some great art.”

“Amazing art,” Tony corrects with a smile, reaching down to brush his fingers over Steve’s cheek.

“You’ve always believed in me.” Steve shakes his head with a laugh, reaches into his pocket. “More than anyone. More than I deserved, sometimes. Well, yesterday it panned out—SSR Studios called me, I got the exhibit.”

“Steve!” Tony can’t help interrupting, clutching at Steve’s hands giddily. “That’s fantastic, why didn’t you—”

“I didn’t tell you because this morning I cashed the check and bought this.”

Steve presents a ring box, cracks the lid and—oh holy—

“Shit, is that _real?”_ Tony blurts.

“Very.” Steve laughs. “I got it because just like you believe in me, I believe in you. I believe in our future together. So I don’t need the SSR check. I just need you, by my side, til death do us part. What do you say?”

“Yes,” Tony breathes. The past few times they’ve done this, a part of Tony has maybe meant his  _yeses_ more than Steve’s meant his proposals, or vice versa. Now, though. God. Steve really prepped that speech. And where in the hell did he get a real ring? The  _yes_ on Tony’s tongue tastes far more real than fake, and if he’s not careful this could become a problem. For now he settles on pulling Steve into a kiss, repeating his answer a few more times with enthusiasm. “Yes, yes,  _yes!”_

The restaurant claps for them, and their waiter sniffles a little bit. “That was beautiful, man.”

“Thanks,” Tony answers for them both, because Steve’s not paying a lick of attention. He’s still beaming so hard it must hurt, still not looking at anywhere but at Tony.

Aware that the applause has died and their audience has grown bored, Tony retakes his seat again, turning the ring over in his palm. Too heavy to be cubic zirconium. Does Steve have a rich engaged friend Tony doesn’t know about who let him borrow it? Bucky and Natasha got engaged a couple months ago, but Nat used a ring pop for the proposal and Tony’s pretty sure they never upgraded. It can’t be a family heirloom, Steve’s mom would’ve brought up a family ring one of the several thousand times she hinted about him making Steve an honest man.

Steve’s foot tangles with his under the table, and above it Steve clasps his hand. “I love you so damn much, Tony.”

“I love you too, weirdo.” Tony grins back at him, lowers his voice. “For real though, did you steal this?”

“Of course not.” Steve laughs, rolls his eyes. “I told you, I bought it with the SSR check.”

“Which I am so fucking proud of.” Tony squeezes his hand. “And I told you so, obviously. Fun way to celebrate the win.”

“Thought it might be.” Steve smiles proudly.

“How long til we have to return it? If we’ve got a couple weeks we could really milk this thing, I bet the pancake place that comped everything has totally forgotten us by now.”

“Until we…what?” Anxiety clouds Steve’s features. “Do you not like it?”

“No, god, of course I  _like_ it, it’s just—I mean, if it was your whole check that’s kind of a waste, don’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way,” Steve says, a little subdued now. He’s picking at the edge of the tablecloth like he does when he’s upset, and that…doesn’t make sense.

“Not, uh. Not a waste like I didn’t enjoy this,” Tony assures, still confused about exactly what part has Steve upset. “Of course I did, and that speech—I mean, Steve, really, A triple plus, best yet hands down, beats all of mine by miles and miles, but—thousands of dollars is a lot of money to spend on a gag ring, babe.”

Steve stares at him. Slowly, apprehension seems to dawn. “The free dessert.”

“I mean, with your performance I’m betting we get the whole meal comped, to be honest.” Tony laughs. Steve puts his head in hands. “Uh. Steve?” Steve just groans. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

“I’m an idiot,” Steve mutters into his hands. He glances up at Tony. “You too, a little bit, but mostly me. I can’t believe I thought proposing in a restaurant would be a good idea, how did I manage to forget about that?”

“Forget about what? The dessert? If you forgot about the dessert then why did you—” Tony stutters to a halt.

“Propose?” Steve rubs his forehead, his mouth doing nervous little twists. “To my boyfriend of four years, who I love and live with and is the single best part of my life?”

“That was real,” Tony says, no small amount of horror in his voice. Steve just proposed to him for real and Tony asked when they’d be returning the ring. Steve, face in his hands again now, nods into his palms.

“Yep.”

“That was _all real.”_

“Yep.”

“You just proposed—”

“Tony—”

“ _For real—”_

“Could you not—”

“This is a _real ring.”_ Tony stares down at the gigantic fucking rock in his palm, the genuine, no takebacks, one hundred percent real ring Steve bought with real money and does not intend to return. Because he wants Tony to keep it. Forever. “You must love me a stupid amount.”

“Yeah.” Steve sighs, both wistful and a little amused. “Sounds about right.”

“So I know we’re both idiots,” Tony says slowly, turning the ring over in his palm once more before trying it on. It slides on perfectly. He shouldn’t be surprised; Steve has a way of getting everything to turn out just right. “But this idiot loves you a stupid amount too, and would kind of like to marry you for real.”

Steve’s smile alone could light the whole room.


End file.
